Smoke Gets In Your Eyes
by NoCapes
Summary: When Engineer finds himself alone and heartbroken after his wife unexpectantly leaves him the enemy Spy takes it upon himself to help the man forget his problems. Whether he likes it or not.
1. Prologue

_Summary: When the RED teams engineer starts lagging in his job the bored enemy Spy decides to investigate the reasons behind it and maybe help solve the Texan's problems_.

The sun beat down on Tuefort base as the daily routine unfolded as it had for ages. Both teams rose from their bed and performed their morning routines; the Red soldier made his bed with careful precision, the Blu scout batted another alarm clock into smithereens, Red Medic having awakened hours before was making a sandwich for later in the day, the Blu Engineer made last minute tweaks to his sentry, Red Sniper sat down with his first cup of coffee of the day, and the Blu Spy ironed the creases in his suit pants. At promptly at nine in the morning the two teams set about the business of killing each other.

It was a normal day by many accounts, bullets were flying, insults were hurled and blood was being spilled in seemingly endless quantities. RED was, as usual putting up a good fight, and the BLU Spy found himself having to be very careful if he didn't want to be riddled with bullet holes. He had managed to get through their lines and past their defenses, switching disguises often as needed to keep anyone off his scent and had managed to make his way into the RED base. It had not been very hard to fool men in the heat of battle with bullets and rockets blowing up around their ears. It was almost too easy to get his knife in someone's back and make his escape before anyone was any wiser to his presence. The stabbed would come out of Respawn mad and yelling and on the alert but he would be nowhere nearby when they returned to tell the others.

Creeping deeper in the base, he could hear the clamor and shouts of the conflict raging outside less and less. That didn't matter to him at the moment, he had his own battles to fight. A battle that usually involved more finesse and less explosions. Invisibly and silently he slunk through the corridors downwards towards the office, keeping an ear out for the sound of footsteps or machinery. The Frenchman had often thought himself clear of all trouble and would be just outside the intelligence office only to find himself on the wrong end of a sentry gun or wrench. Fooling men surrounded at all times by flying shrapnel and chaos was easy, fooling a man who seemed to do nothing but lie in wait and watch and plot...That was another challenge entirely.

Quickly switching on his disguise kit, Pyro for this occasion - a figure the American seemed to trust more than the others - he walked down the hall to the Office, trying to mimic the strange bobbing gait the of the RED teams masked maniac. Making his way around the corner he heard the faint beep of a sentry gun from behind the office door. He opened the door with all the fearless self assurance of a man who was exactly where he was supposed to be; half expecting to get shot at. Surprisingly, there was no shotgun to greet him, not even an acknowledgement of his entrance...He was almost insulted. From his experience he often found the RED engineer to be overly jumpy and paranoid and would shoot anyone, friend or foe. But not today. Even the Sentry chirped calmly at him, ignoring him in his disguise.

"Dammit"

Glancing over, he found the Engineer next to a half built dispenser, fumbling with a bolt or something. The man's back was to the door - this was strangely out of character but, he didn't see a reason to look a gift horse in the mouth. He snuck behind the man who seemed too absorbed to notice. One quick flick of his knife took care of the Engineer and a hasty dive to the floor out of the gun's immediate sight allowed him enough time to get a Sapper attached. The alarm sounded as soon as he picked up the briefcase from the desk and he chuckled strolling out the door. With all the commotion outside to keep the REDS occupied he didn't expect too much company. The cowboy would be delayed a bit before he came out of Respawn, that would allow him enough time to out of here with little fuss. As he shut the door behind him he heard the satisfying sound of the sentry exploding. He smiled and strolled down the hall with his prize.

After a brief break for lunch and another journey into the fray the Spy found himself once again in the RED base. He again found the engineer at a disadvantage and more short work was made of his toys. He could hardly believe his luck, he fully planned to enjoy it while it lasted.

His luck, however, lasted for quite some time. The next day found the RED Engineer just as bumbling and his toys as quick to fail as the day before. By the third day, the RED's Pyro had taken to hanging around the Texan's creations. This complicated things a bit as he found himself scorched more often than he liked to admit. But soon the gas masked monster got bored and didn't stay around too much.

This went on...for a week. For two weeks. For three. The RED Engineer fumbled and floundered through his work like a man sleep walking and the Spy easily demolished and beat him at every turn. While the Frenchman's employers were supposedly impressed and happy with his seemingly improved performance he was not.

There was little satisfaction or joy to be had in defeating the Engineer anymore, it was getting rather pathetic. It was _embarrassing_ how easily the Spy could work his way around the Engineer's defenses. It was getting monotonous.

The Sniper on his team once made a comment on how his marksmanship was actually atrophying at the lack of challenge that shooting people provided compared to his hunting days. At the time he hadn't really understood what the bushman meant, but he was beginning to. Much more of this and he was going to start wearing tap shoes just to give the American a sporting chance.

For a short time he took to bothering the Sniper in search of a more challenging sport, but that proved to be a dangerous mistake. Between the bushman's readiness to throw a jar of urine at anyone friend or foe, and BLU's own Sniper shooting at any moving thing that could possibly be RED's Sniper, he decided to let the imbeciles alone to shoot at each other.

Desperation finally led him to turn his attention back to the Engineer, he began to spend more time watching and observing the man before dispatching him and his machines. Before he had been annoyed and disappointed by the man's incompetence; now he was curious, if only for lack of anything else to do about this situation

That evening he mused he problem over in his mind as his own team ate their dinner. He tuned out the cajoling and loud exclamations from his seat at the end of the table, away from the rest of the team. Something needed to be done about the enemy Engineer, before he snapped from sheer boredom. But what could he do about the problem? The Engineer was clearly not at his best. The man looked tired, his face drawn and most of the energy or spark that had driven the man seemed dim. But if his contract was anything like BLU's, he was going to be here for quite a long time no matter the condition he was in... Unless the builder were to die permanently, but that idea didn't really appeal to him. Killing a man in the heat of a fight was alright, killing for orders was fine. But killing a defenseless man like a sick dog, that turned his stomach.

The man was having problems - but what they were or why the man's own team hadn't handled them when whatever plagued him started to interfere with his work, these were mysteries. Mysteries, he quickly decided, that were not going to remain unsolved.

After a bit of thought, it seemed there was only one real solution to this problem. It was simple and straight forward : solve the Texan's problems, and he would solve his own. Something was affecting the Engineer, distracting him, troubling him. If this distraction were to be handled, the man just might return to his full attention to his job and provide a challenge again.

He smiled to himself; figuring out and solving the Engineer's problems might even prove to be entertaining.


	2. Chapter One

After a week of watching the man on the battle field and observing his interactions with his other team mates, the nature of the RED Engineer's problem was still unknown. The man continued to fumble his job and only put on a half hearted attempt to socialize when his teammates approached him - the problem didn't seem to work oriented. His personnel file, which the Spy had acquired through rather dubious means, had little to no interest or value. The man's past was as unremarkable as his own team's Engineer, no past secrets or traumas to possibly haunt him like that of some of the other mercenaries in RED and BLU's employ. Just another trigger happy Texan far away from his precious cows and beloved range.

It seemed something more hands on would be required, though he was hardly complaining; as boring as the Engineer was, investigating his problems were still a break from the monotony.

The Spy had infiltrated the RED base multiple times, but never during the off hours. This provided much more challenge and entertainment. He decided Friday evening would be the best time to try this. With the weekend ceasefire both teams scattered to the four winds. This meant confusion to cover his tracks, less people to avoid and less members of his own team to miss him if his excursion took longer than expected.

The Frenchman made his way quietly across the vast obstacle course turned battle field that marked the invisible boundary between BLU and RED territory. Darting from shadow to shadow - using his cloak to further ensure his passing through was not noticed - he crossed the field. To his relief the patch of forbidden territory was seemingly quiet and abandoned. Some summer nights, snipers from both sides were known to watch the area from their nests and fire warning shots at any civilians from the local town who got too inquisitive or too close. He had little desire for either of the sharpshooters to catch him out of bounds after hours.

Once crossed, getting inside the base was easy. The base's security system was state of the art, though it was as temperamental and easy to evade as BLU's own. Besides the Sniper's occasional devotion to duty, the rest of RED team also seemed to keep security as lax during ceasefires as BLU did. So it was simply a matter of picking a pad lock and entering through a side door he had used occasionally in the past to enter the base during daylight hours. The door led into a side corridor that housed various long forgotten utility closets and rooms of computers and equipment of mysterious purpose that none of the mercenaries had any business with or interest in. He snuck down the dim corridor to the main hallway.

"DO YOU CALL THAT A CLEAN POT? THAT IS THE SORRIEST EXCUSE FOR CLEANING I HAVE EVER SEEN!" Even from here the unmistakable rants of the RED team's Soldier could be heard quite clearly from the Mess Hall at the very end the main corridor.

"YOU KIDDIN' ME? LOOKIT THIS! I CAN SEE MY FACE IN THIS!" while not as practiced at shouting as the older man, the Scout's voice carried almost as well. "I DO NOT-" the young man's voice was cut off by a loud crash which set the Soldier off again.

"SON YOU BETTER STOP MUMBLING TO YOURSELF AND LOOK WHERE YOU ARE GOING. YOU LADIES ARE BOTH INSULTS TO THIS OUTFIT!"

Pressing against the wall, his cloak activated he crept down the main hall way. Placing his weight with care as he stepped so not to make a sound on the worn floorboards. He turned into another hall, that led into the wing which housed the living quarters. He passed the Armory, the large community showers and bathroom, and turned a corner to the sleeping quarters.

There was a faint sound of a record playing making its way down the hall -it seemed the Doctor had already retired to his quarters - as he slunk past the medics door he could hear the soft sounds of a conversation and the loud creak of bed springs above the chords of violins. So the Russian was accounted for as well and from the sound of their conversation they were settled and content and unlikely to part soon. He wouldn't be noticed, at least not for the moment.

Making his way down the hall, he passed the doors to each team members rooms, just like BLU, no names were on the doors just the symbol for their job. A couple doors down from the Medic he found the Engineer's room, trying the doorknob, he found that it was, quite sensibly, locked. The music stopped playing just as he pulled his lock picks out of his jacket pocket. He froze for a moment his hand on his watch activating his cloak, only to relax when the music resumed - a new song this time, someone had flipped the record over. He made short work of the lock on the door and he quickly slipped inside the door, shutting it behind him and switching the cloak off to allow it to recharge.

The room was dark, but he did not use the light switch since it would be seen from the hallway should anyone walk by. Instead, he pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and swept it across his surroundings. The furnishings were basic issue, nearly identical to furniture that Spy might find in any room of the RED or BLU base: a bed, night stand, writing desk, chair and wardrobe, all plain and unfinished wood, dating back to times no one remembered. No windows; glass cost money and windows were likely to be broken from any stray bullets or rockets. There were however some personal touches about the room, some framed photos hung above the desk, a quilt on the unmade bed, a well used guitar propped up against the wardrobe.

A quick glance at the contents of the wardrobe revealed no surprises: laborer's clothes, work boots, a pair of ridiculous pointed boots, and something that some people, -though certainly not him- might call a suit. The thing was a sickening shade of tan and brown, it was checkered and - he cringed - it had leather patches on the elbows. Turning away from the wardrobe in disgust, he investigated the desk. The chair next to it looked like something the man had probably built himself. It at least looked more comfortable than anything company issued. Careful not to hit the chair or move it he leaned in closer to study the photos above the desk.

Some men would hang up pictures of vacation destinations or places they intended to retire to, others hung up pictures of friends and family. It seemed the Engineer was one of the latter. The first image showed a group of people, the Engineer smiling among them, standing on the steps of a small white farm house. Judging from the resemblance between most of them it was taken at a family gathering. The second was an older, tattered photograph showing a much younger Engineer wearing an academic cap and gown and grinning from ear to ear; on either side of him stood an older man and woman smiling just as widely. Another photo showed smiling enthusiastically the Engineer gripping a fishing pole while another man, a friend the Spy guessed, stood next to him holding a large fish. There were a few other images; another of his parents, another photo involving fish, a photo of a group of young men, the Texan among them in, some military uniform, with large artillery guns in the background. Spy frowned, noticing the arrangement of the photos - they were all in precise rows, evenly spaced... Except for a couple of spaces that seemed empty. There had been more pictures hanging here but they had been removed, and fairly recently he'd guess, since the man hadn't taken time to rearrange things.

The contents of the desk were plentiful if trivial. It seemed there had been some organization in place with trays to separate the mail and other paper work. But whatever organization had been in place was forgotten recently with most of the recent mail just thrown carelessly on the desk. He skimmed through several letters from RED's head office rejecting recommended upgrades or changes, flipped through a dog-eared scientific journal with various notes and equations scribbled in the margins correcting the articles, or at least he assumed they were corrections. At the bottom of the debris he found scraps of paper covered in half sketched devices that seemingly did nothing and finally a postcard from someone named Sam from exotic "Branson, MO."

But he found no sign of what could be troubling the man. He replaced the contents of the desktop, attempting to keep them in their original order- or lack thereof- and began opening the desk drawers. The top drawer had nothing more troubling in it than an old pocket knife and some pencil stubs. The second drawer was filled with more scientific journals and sketches of artillery. He finally found something of note in the very bottom drawer. In here on top of everything he found framed photos laying face down in the drawer. Picking one up and holding it up, he noted where it would have fit on the wall. He removed the rest of the photos from the drawer and examined them. In the first picture the Spy recognized to his chagrin the Engineer in his horrible suit and on his arm a disgustingly plump woman wearing makeup that was as thick as her waist. The same woman made an appearance in the next one, her short hair messy, and her smile too broad revealing gapped teeth. The next was the Engineer and the woman again arm in arm laughing at some inane thing off camera. As he moved to return them to the drawer he noticed the photographs had been covering a large envelope.

Setting the photos delicately on the desk he removed the envelope from the drawer, it had been torn open the return address indicating it was from a lawyer in Texas. He removed and unfolded the letter, noting the expensive quality of the paper even through his gloves, and as he read the letter's contents the reason for the Engineer's current condition became crystal clear.

He was disappointed by how mundane the problem was, the Texan had merely been having marital problems and was getting a divorce. He was disappointed but he couldn't say he was surprised. Mercenary work wasn't usually suited to family men, the distance and secrecy had a tendency to strain even the most loving of marriages - he imagined - his own relationships rarely lasted long enough to decide on breakfast much less a life together. He remembered last Spring when his own team's Medic discovered his wife had been sleeping with another man, the German had been seething. When it was revealed that the man she'd been seeing was in RED's employ the doctor had lost what grip he had on the situation and raged and screamed at everyone and everything in German until he went hoarse. Even now he seemed angry and bitter, snapping at everyone over the slightest of indiscretions.

The Spy's musings were interrupted by the sound of someone fumbling outside the door. Quickly tossing the envelope and photos back in the desk drawer he kicked it shut. Once the documents were back in their places he activated his cloak and glanced around the room for some escape, some exit. But none appeared or presented themselves. The Texan fumbled to get his key in the door, and the Spy dove under the bed, as the laborer finally hit his target.

Opening the door with a clatter, the man stumbled into the room with an ungainly lurch and smelling like a brewery. The Spy now unhappily covered in dust and sharing space with some stray socks, warily watched as the man wobbled further into the room, muttering unintelligibly to himself. He swayed awkwardly in front of the wardrobe and the Spy's vision from under the bed was limited to nothing but the man's scuffed up and filthy work boots . The Spy turned his gaze from the Texan to the bright patch of light behind him, the door that the Texan had neglected to shut in his drunken entrance - his exit. If only he could reach it. Leaning on the wardrobe for support the Engineer turned and shambled toward the bed landing on it roughly with a loud creak of the mattress.

The room now was silent except for the occasional mumbled words from the Texan. Taking the opportunity the Spy with his cloak activated slipped out from under the bed and resisting the urge to dust himself off slipped through the open door, letting it swing shut behind him as he crept invisibly down the hall.


	3. Chapter Two

The evening was fading to night which was usually the time for all good honest farm boys to go to bed. But Engineer was miles away from home, on a base in the middle of nowhere and nothing and the concerns of farm life felt foreign to him. Normally he didn't feel homesick, but talking on the phone with his cousin tonight about the concerns of harvesting the corn and how the cows were going to be fed this winter reminded him just how far away home was. For the first time since his early college days he felt a cold clench in his stomach as he pictured the farm house back in Texas wishing for anything he was back there. With her.

The topic then changed abruptly from cows to more...personal matters. "No, I don't think this'll blow over. You don't know her when she gets like this." the Texan muttered into the phone lowering his voice when he heard someone's nearby footsteps. RED didn't offer much privacy for anything and phone calls were no exception. The company had provided them with a wall mounted phone in a corridor near the courtyard with not even a door or booth between the caller and the rest of the base. To further shame whoever dared to have a personal life outside of their job the only light in the corridor was right above the phone shining down like a spot light. He sighed thinking back on her words _"we've been married for ten years and I've only seen you half of that time, maybe less."_

He rubbed his eyes, leaning on the wall next to the phone "L-Look Sam, I appreciate you talking to me, I know it's gettin' late for you. It's just been hard for me to get a chance to call you any earlier."

Sam responded amicably, he understood, they must keep odd hours over there. It was alright, they were family after all and if you couldn't rely on family who could you rely on?

The Texan shivered and glanced over his shoulder, he felt so exposed out here. He had delayed the call in the hope that at this hour there'd be less chance of someone overhearing him on the phone. After all, this was his problem, his business, and airing it out in public was something he wanted to avoid. "I jus' wanted to..." he stumbled over his words a moment, collected himself, and tried again "jus' want you to keep an eye on things. On the farm. Evie ain't gonna" he said softly, "She was talkin' bout movin' on, maybe to the city." He swallowed thickly remembering the last conversation he'd had with her over the phone. Make up for wasted time, she had said, time wasted sitting around waiting for him to come home. "I've got the money to look after things, I- I jus' don' wanna see the place fall apart. Dad'd never forgive me."

Sam said it was fine, he'd look after things, no need to worry. With that the pair said their good byes and the phone was hung up.

The Texan trudged up the hallway. He could faintly hear the clamor from the mess hall. From the sound of things, someone, in all likelihood Scout, had interrupted one of Soldier's war stories and the two would probably come to blows if someone didn't step in and separate them. That was usually his job, but as it was he didn't feel like dealing with the other teammates, especially if it meant trying to talk those two blockheads into behaving like civilized folk. Someone else could handle it this time he decided as he walked on to the living quarters.

A niggling voice reminded him he should be back in the workshop - he hadn't been in there for weeks, he should be working. There were repairs to be made - adjustments to the sentries to be done, his shot gun needed to be cleaned. If he had any sense he'd be down there with a pot of coffee and back at those upgrades he'd started before...Grimacing, more memories flooding back, he unlocked his door and stepped inside, it didn't matter anyway.

The Engineer flicked on the light switch and kicked the door shut as the light bulb flickered into life flooding the room with a sickly light. Ignoring the unmade bed, walking past the half open wardrobe spilling dirty clothes on the floor and the desk with all its clutter he sank into his desk chair. The man's gaze drifted over the rows of photos and the offending holes in the collection. He'd taken down her photos but it hadn't really accomplished anything. The blank spots on the wall were just another reminder. When he closed his eyes he could still picture her: her smile, the way her nose wrinkled when she laughed, the constellations of freckles on her skin, her kisses, the way she'd hum to herself in the bath, the way his name sounded on her tongue.

Gone.

She'd left him and was never coming back.

When this contract was over he'd take the first train out of here, away from all the gravel quarries and cacophonous gun shots, and go back to Texas. And there would be no one there.

Just him, and an empty house.

Turning away from the photos he noticed his guitar resting against the side of the wardrobe. Trying to clear his head and busy his hands he rose from the chair and picked it up.

The guitar felt good in his hands, reassuring. It was an old friend. He had had it for years before he'd come here, before he'd gone to college, before he married Evie. Now sitting back in his chair he clung to it like an anchor, his hands automatically tuning it and half heartedly beginning to pick out a song. His fingers didn't fumble as they found the opening chords to the first song that came to mind.

"L-last Saturday night I got married" he sang softly to himself "Me and my wife settled down. " He swallowed before continuing " N-now me and my w-wife are parted, I'm gonna take me a little stroll down town."

"Irene goodnight Irene goodnight, goodnight Irene goodnight Irene I kiss you in my dreams"

"Sometimes I live in the country, sometimes I live in town." his fingers slipped missing the chords he had played countless times before as his tongue seemed to trip over the words, his throat tightened " S-sometimes I take a great notion to jump in the river and drown"

His voice sounded thick to his ears, "Irene goodnight Irene, Irene goodnight, goodnight Irene" he swallowed trying to dislodge the lump in his throat "G-goodnight Irene, I kiss you in my... dreams." The last choked words hung in the air as the guitar strings stilled and the Texan slumped in his chair as silence filled the room.


	4. Chapter Three

The Spy stood in the Engineers dark room and waited. By now, he knew the Texan's habits like the back of his hand. Soon the man would be done dropping off his equipment in the workshop and would head back to his quarters for another night of sulking and avoiding people. The sad imbecile needed a change of routine and some fresh air. This was definitely doing the man a favor.

The sound of footsteps came up the hall and stopped in front of the door followed by the jingle of keys. The Frenchman stood up straight and remained very still as the door was unlocked and the American entered the room and turned on the light switch. He was sober this time, though his face still possessed the drawn exhausted features of one who had given up on life. The man shut the door behind him with a heavy sigh and slumped on the edge of his bed. Oblivious, he began untying his work boots, the floorlamp by his bed moving soundlessly nearer. The man spotted something out of the corner of his eye and turned his head, but he wasn't quite fast enough. The blackjack came down, delivering a sharp tap to the head and the man listlessly slid off the bed to the floor with a solid thud. The BLU Spy removed his mask and returned the black jack to his coat pocket.

Stepping around the Texan he opened the door a crack and peered into the hallway. Just to be cautious, he activating his cloak before walking down the hall. The base was quiet, there was no sound or sign of anyone around. All according to plan, the Frenchman smiled to himself. The RED team had conveniently and mysteriously received a letter and a voucher claiming they were the lucky winners of a contest for a free steak dinner for eight from a restaurant fifty miles away. While this was suspicious, it seemed that any concerns anyone might have had were outweighed by the promise of food that had not come out of a can or tin. Though it was a shame that they were not going to make it to the dinner, the Spy chuckled to himself picturing the mercenaries stranded on the side of the road due to engine trouble. They should have made it about fifteen miles out before the engine stalled, or at least he was fairly sure, they might make it to twenty if they were lucky.

With free run of the base the Frenchman retrieved a wheelbarrow from the courtyard. It had been laying on its side next to a wooden cow, a relic from when RED had been trying to pretend the base was a farm and not in fact a base of operations for a personal war. It had never seen a load until now. Returning to the personal quarters he tried to use the wheelbarrow to scoop the man from the floor though all he achieved was to scoot the man a few inches along the floor. Finally he with some effort managed to roll the heavy Texan into the cart - more or less - one of the man's arms seemed determined to hang out the side and his leg was at an alarming angle. Once the man was in the cart close enough to his liking the Spy wheeled his load out of the Engineers room, switching off the light and shutting the door behind him, and whistling as he strolled down the hallway.

The stairs down to the courtyard proved little difficulty. The Spy barely slowed down as he pushed the wheelbarrow in front of him, the Texan made involuntary little grunts as he was bounced down each step all the way down to the bottom. Once down, wheeled his the cargo out of the side gate and out behind a barricade of empty crates where his Vespa was parked out of sight so the gleam of the metal wouldn't attract any attention. He roughly dumped the wheelbarrow's prone contents into the rarely used side car. Or attempted to, at least. The Engineer, though unconscious was seemingly determined to protest his treatment. His legs refused to tuck into the side car properly, the Spy swore as he had to grab the man by his shoulders and - with much grunting and snarling of effort -straighten then twist him so he fit into the seat a bit better. When he was finished, one of the Texan's arms was pinned behind him he was slumped at an odd angle as he'd slid further down off the seat into the sidecar and the Frenchman was certain that his knee shouldn't be bent like that but at least none of his limbs were dangling in any way that could slow down the scooter.

Once satisfied with a job well done, the Spy leaned on the side of the scooter, pulled out his cigarette case and lit one. He breathed in the smoke, savoring the taste and enjoying the moment. There was a groan from the side car beside him, the night air began stirring the Texan. Quickly, before the man could fully come to, the Spy had his blackjack out of his pocket once more and conked the man over the head again. The silence returned again. Much better. Sufficiently being reminded of the task at hand he put both the blackjack and the cigarette case back into his jacket pocket and mounted the Vespa. The engine came to life after some sputters and the Frenchman and his load began to putter from behind the crates and down the road away from the base.


	5. Chapter Four

The Engineer awakened to the sound of applause and whistles. Groaning, he slowly lifted his head off the table where his forehead had been resting as raucous music began to play. His head was throbbing and he ached all over. He rubbed the back of his head - was that a lump? His shoulder was throbbing like someone had tried to pull his arm out of joint and his right knee had a twinge. But after a quick check, it seemed there was no blood or sign of anything seriously wrong...besides the lump. He just ached. He was also in a suit. That was odd. Had he been drinking? He didn't remember drinking. Besides, when he drank he normally woke up in his room on the base. In his clothes, not a suit. And though his eyes were still having trouble focusing, this... didn't look anything like his room.

He was in a large open space, sitting at a table by himself. In a suit. There was an empty chair next to him and a half extinguished cigarette in the ash tray in front of him, a ribbon of smoke lazily drifting up to add to the general haze of the room. Glancing around the dim room he could make out tables and other people, who didn't seem to notice him. There was music, so he was in a club? A bar? He looked forward and noticed a stage. How did he miss that before? Was this a theater? Though, he thought to himself as his eyes focused, in most theaters the dancers tended to wear more clothes than just some fishnets and a few carefully placed sequins.

He was dreaming, he decided to himself, watching a girl sway across the stage and slowly peel off the strategically placed sequins revealing another patch of bare flesh . This sort of thing happened when you were on base too long without any ladies around. Why he would dream up what was probably a concussion was a mystery, but now the rest of it made sense. He had been alone for far too long. His last trip home had been months ago - and now he was dreaming about strange theaters and naked ladies. Perfectly normal. Though the fishnets were new. His subconscious didn't normally bother with niceties like fishnets or sequins. Or theaters. Or suits. His head still throbbed. Maybe he'd hit his head and this was a dream he was having while he was unconscious. He tried to shake the unpleasant thought and mental image of him laying on the floor of his quarters maybe bleeding out, with no one to help him. Spending his last moments... dreaming of naked ladies.

"Good, you're awake." an accented voice behind him interrupted his thoughts. The Texan looked over the back of his chair to see...The BLU Spy!? It had to be him, few people could get away with wearing a mask in public. Though, if he _was_ dreaming why was _this guy_ here of all people? Evelyn had accused him of being too obsessed with his work, that it was the only thing on his mind. She... might have had a point, given this. He briefly wondered if his Sentry was going show up soon. If it did, he could only hope it wasn't going to wind up on stage wearing garters.

The enemy Frenchman placed a drink in front of the Texan and pulled out the empty chair next to him and sat down. "Enjoying the show?" he asked as he set his own drink down on the table.

"The show?" the Texan repeated in confusion.

"Oui," the man said in a tone like he was talking to a child, gesturing to the stage with a smirk. "The _show._"

The Texan frowned - the dream was now asking if he was enjoying it? Unable to think of anything to say he turned his attention to the drink in front of him. He picked up the glass and examined it. The Spy had a martini, but the drink he'd placed in front of the Engineer appeared to be whiskey. At least it smelled like good whiskey. He sipped it cautiously. Odd, it even tasted like decent whiskey. Not amazing, but decent none the less. For a dream this was very detailed. Very realistic.

But this was very much a dream. Wasn't it? Surely, it was a dream. A strange dream, to be sure. An incredibly detailed, realistic dream. But a dream. It had to be a dream. If it wasn't a dream... He set the glass gently back down on the table, and slapped the side of his face. Wincing in pain, he swore under his breath.

"Dare I ask why you did _that_?" the Spy asked, one eye brow raised. The Texan said nothing to the Frenchman who watched him in silence, cautiously leaning away from him in case he decided to hit someone else. The Engineer just stared blankly in front of him, not paying attention to the stage, processing this new information in mute horror. His face hurt, his head was throbbing, and he was pretty sure he wasn't dreaming. He was at a strip show. With the enemy Spy. And he was not dreaming. He was in a club. In a suit. With the enemy Spy. And he was not dreaming... He needed a drink.

Reflexively, he picked up the whiskey in front of him and was about to take a sip when he noticed the Spy out of the corner of his eye. Watching him. He hurriedly slammed the glass back on the table before the drink could pass his lips.

"Bit late to be worried about poison," the Spy said still eyeing him suspiciously.

"What? "

"The drink, you are worried I put something in it. But you already drank from it."

There was an embarrassed pause as the Engineer gazed into the glass not wanting to see the pitying look on the other man's face.

"I didn't, by the way" the Spy smugly added. Now that the Frenchman brought it up he felt silly. Of course the man wouldn't drug his drink. There was no need to. What would he accomplish that he hadn't already?

"Where are we?" he asked uneasily looking at the Frenchman again.

"Off base." came the obvious sardonic, yet vague answer.

"How did I get here?"

"I brought you." the Spy said before going back to sip on his martini. The Texan hesitated, opening his mouth to ask why the man would do that in the first place, when another horrifying thought occurred to him.

"Why am I in _this suit_?"

"I refuse to be seen in public with a _ farmhand._" was the withering reply.

"But _this suit?_" He persisted as he gestured at the lapels. The suit was a dark brown, well tailored - he hesitated to say stylish... he wasn't sure what _was_ fashionable. It certainly fit him better than anything he had worn before in his life. It was also clothing he had never seen before in his life. "H-" he opened his mouth and closed it again trying to figure out if he wanted to _ask_ exactly how the Spy had managed it. He suppressed a shudder as he pictured the possible answers, the possible actions the man could have taken to get his measurements, or to get him _in_ the suit in the first place. Better not to ask. "B-But I _have_ a suit" he finally managed to say feebly.

"Not anymore." the Frenchman said coolly as he pulled out his cigarette holder.

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I burned it." he smirked as he lit cigarette.

"WHAT?" he stood up from his chair, "You can't just barge into my room and- and _burn my property_!"

"It was a public service. An act of charity if you will." the Spy said with a sigh. "Now sit down-" he added sharply "you'll interrupt the show."

The Texan hesitated, glancing around the room, ignoring the odd looks some of the surrounding attendees were now giving him. If he walked away what would the Frenchman do? Would he follow? Maybe he could get away, get away and-

"Where would you go?" the Spy asked as if reading his mind. "Do you even know where you _are_? Where the base is from here?"

"I can figure it out" he shot back - in what he hoped would pass for a determined tone.

"Really? So tell me, how will you do that? Use the stars to navigate?"

"N-"

"-Or ask someone where you are?" the Spy cut him off, "What state you are in? Surely no one will think that odd."

"You're just messin' with me," he retorted as he stormed off, determined not to let the snake have the last word. He was lying. Bluffing. They couldn't be _that _far away from base. Could they? What sort of maniac would kidnap a man and travel miles away across state lines just to take him to a strip club? He realized that was a stupid question, he already knew the answer ...Had anyone back on base even noticed he was gone?

He angrily picked his way among the tables, towards the direction of what he assumed was the bar. It had bottles behind it at least. Manning the bar was an older, curvy woman. She was mixing a drink and talking to a large gentleman with a moustache. After handing the drink over to man she turned her attention to the Texan.

"Hey Sugar, what can I get you?" she asked with a wide smile. He opened his mouth to speak and tried to think of what exactly he was going to say.

"Uh..." _I've been kidnapped by an insane Frenchman and was brought here and I have no idea where I am. Or what day it is. And I'm in a suit. But not my suit. This one's tailored. _He was pretty sure he wasn't going to get even half way through that line before she dialed for the police. Or a white van.

"You alright?" she asked her smile had faded into a confused frown. He stood there in awkward silence.

"Never mind." he mumbled finally with a defeated sigh, and turned away from the bar to figure out his next move. He could ask to use the phone to call the base. Maybe get someone to come get him. But that would require knowing where he was. Besides what would he say? The same thing he would have told the woman at the bar? No one would believe him. Maybe he could find a newspaper somewhere, that might answer some questions. Though he would have to probably leave this place to find one, he thought bitterly to himself as he walked away.

"So, Monsieur," a familiar voice purred in his ear. The Texan froze in surprise - he should have expected the Spy to follow. The Frenchman materialized out of thin air. "Have you figured out where we are?" the man asked smirking over his shoulder. The only response he received was a glare. The Spy chuckled," Come now, this isn't so bad... is it?"

"_Yes._" he growled through grit teeth.

The Spy tsked, "Such a shame," he said shaking his head in mock concern. "Oh well, if you are hating it this much I'll take you back to your base."

"You will, will you?" the Texan frowned, turning to face the man - he felt uncomfortable with the snake at his back - he added, "What's the catch?"

The Frenchman smiled, it wasn't a friendly smile. It was the smile of someone who knew he was going to win no matter what cards were played.

"The catch, as you so _crudely_ put it," the Spy answer rolling his eyes. "is that we go back to our table. You sit down, and enjoy the show. Then I take you back when it is over." Taking the angry silence for agreement he placed a gloved hand on the Texan's shoulder and forcibly walked him back to the abandoned table.

Back at the table the Texan was seething silently to himself. What was the Frenchman's game? He asked himself, staring ahead and not really focusing on the song and dance playing out onstage. Why had he been brought here? Why was the Spy so insistent that he "enjoy himself"? What business was it of his? Knock him unconscious, drag him to strange clubs, put him in strange, well tailored suits, break into his room and destroy his property. The Texan grit his teeth, glancing over at the side winder, who sat there cooly watching the show with that damn smug smirk on his face. When this was all over and he was back on base he was going to kill the man. Repeatedly.

Setting the man on fire, that might be an option he mused to himself. But Pyro tended to look after and guard his weapons, so getting a hold of those would be difficult. Maybe he could use a welding torch. Wringing that scrawny French neck with bare hands also held some appeal. That would be simpler. Though that might take a bit too long to happen in a skirmish. Provided he could catch the bastard, lately the Spy seemed to always find holes in his defenses. Or he could just beat the man senseless, that was simple enough and would almost be as satisfying as strangling.

"Cigars? Cigarettes?" A soft feminine voice interrupted his train of thought. Turning, he found himself face to...breasts. They had tassels on them. The tassels were red.

"P-Pardon?" He hastily moved his gaze upward and found himself looking up at the smiling face of a young woman.

"Cigars? Cigarettes?" she repeated. He frowned, he wasn't good at judging anyone's age but she was young. Too young for a man his age to be looking at her...tassels. . He squinted trying to hazard a guess of how old the girl _was_ when he noticed with a pang the splash of freckles across her nose. Suddenly he was reminded of Evie. He shouldn't be here anymore than this girl should be here. He was a married man. Or something close to it anyway..

"Darlin' does your Daddy know you're here?" he found himself asking.

"Sir?" the girl frowned.

"How old are ya, darlin'? Ya in school?"

"Uh.."

"You're young, you can have a future. This ain't a place for any young lady like yourself."

"Erm-"

"You can do better with your life than just catchin' cold selling cigarettes to a bunch of rowdy menfolk"

"I'm not sure I-"

"Even if your grades aren't that good there's always trade scho-"

"Ta gueule " the Spy irritably cut him off "let the girl go about her business"

"I'm just sayin' th-" he began to turn to argue with the Frenchman when he suddenly felt something hit his head and everything went black.

The Texan woke with a groan and slowly sat up, rubbing the back of his head, wincing as his hand hit the series of lumps. He glanced around his surroundings. It was his room back at RED base. According to the clock it was six in the morning, or at night. He wasn't quite sure.

At least it _looked_ like his room. He was on his bed, with the old quilt from home. His guitar leaned against the wardrobe which was still spilling dirty clothes out onto the floor. The room appeared to be exactly as he left it. He would happily accept the whole thing as a dream. A strange dream of strip clubs and enemy Spies.

Sadly there was too much evidence to the contrary for him to ignore. The lamp by his bed was missing, his work clothes were folded into a bundle on his desk chair, with the address of a laundry service pinned to it. And he was still wearing the tailored suit... He would panic and dwell on that later. After he got something for his head which was now throbbing even worse than before. And then some sleep. Real sleep. Maybe he could wake up in the same room he fell asleep in.

He cringed as he hauled himself to his feet and walked out the open door to the hallway. The barracks were blissfully quiet for once. It made a nice contrast to the constant noise of the club. He'd go to the Infirmary for his head, he'd decided. He'd sleep after that.

Making his way to the Infirmary he began to wonder about the silence of the base. Usually there was _some_ sort of clatter or noise. As he got closer to Infirmary realized he could hear the phone ringing.

One ring, two rings, three. Odd. Normally by now _someone_ would have answered it by now. "Anyone goin' to get that?" he called down the hall. Silence was the only answer. Where was everybody? Surely not everyone could have been kidnapped by insane Frenchmen. It soon became apparent that no one was going to answer the phone. He sighed and trudged to the phone.

"Yea?" he growled into the receiver. There was a pause, "Speak up boy, I can hardly hear ya." The Scouts voice was hard to make out with all the clatter in the background. "I've been...busy." he hesitantly replied as the young man began yelling at him. Apparently they'd been trying to reach him for most of the night. "Wait...what happened?" He should have known better as the Scout started rambling on. "Alright, alright - never mind that now... You're calling from _where_?" he could not be hearing that right. "Whatdya mean you're _ALL IN JAIL_!?"


	6. Chapter Chapter Four and a Half

It had been four and a half hours since the Texan had received the phone call. Four hours, a fifty mile drive, three aspirin and a long series of paper work. Bleary eyed and frustrated, he was now on the question portion of the bail out process, as he repeatedly assured the cop that yes, he really did want to release these blockheads from jail. Yes, all eight of them, yes even _that_ one, and _that other one_. Yes, he knew the consequences. No _really_, he knew. The cop glared at him and finally, reluctantly handed over the last form to sign and disappeared to make him wait for another half hour. He fidgeted, trying to make himself comfortable on the hard wood bench. He really should have ignored the phone call and gone to bed. Or at least had some breakfast or coffee. It wasn't like any of them were going anywhere.

This was not the first time the Engineer found himself having to bail any of the team out of jail. Though having to bail _all_ of them out was a first. At least RED had a procedure to handle it; there was a budget set aside for bail and a number to call and have Pauling handle any other complications like trials or sentencing. As long as they didn't exceed the budget or fail to show up for a skirmish, the company didn't seem to mind. The local police however _did _mind. They got more and more agitated each time RED paid off all the bails and fines, sweeping their employee's indiscretions under the rug with threats and greased palms.

The Texan had somehow managed to ignore the complaints of his sore joints and was just starting to doze off when he heard a clamor of footsteps and arguing up the hall. The jailbirds had been released. Grudgingly he got up from the bench as his team mates entered the room, with multiple police officers behind them ready to re-arrest them if they did anything stupid. Anything. The Texan felt his headache starting to return as the room echoed the sound of everyone talking at once.

"Alright-" he started to talk but no one heard him.

"-'m telling ya, this is the stupidest-"

"-ja ja -"

"-dissapointing-"

"finally out of there, took long-"

"-if ye had _listened_ to me we could have-"

The Texan rubbed his eyes, his patience had long gone thin "ALRIGHT!" he bellowed over the chaos. The room went silent as the mercenaries finally seemed to notice him. Some of them were giving him odd looks but he was too tired to care. "Alright...now anyone want to tell me _what_ exactly happened?"

The room exploded again.

"Schweinhunds! begann auf die schlagenden-"

"-we finally get to the frickin' place after _his_ stupid van breaks!"

"Not sure what happened, she hasn't broken down sin-"

"we were late and _these imbeciles_-"

"-THEY SHOULD HAVE-"

"'m not the one who-"

"hudduh hurm huh!-"

"-hell , couldn' leave the bleedin' -"

"like babies-"

He really shouldn't have asked, he thought to himself massaging his temples. That had been his mistake. All the blows to the head, the exhaustion, it was bound to make him do something stupid.

"Forget I asked." he said turning to walk away. He had done his part. Technically he was supposed to make sure they didn't go do something else unlawful, he just didn't have the energy to care. He'd go find some breakfast and sleep.

"Truckie!" the Sniper called quickly catching up with the Texan. "thanks for bailing us out."

"Weren't nothin" he said reflexively.

"Never thought we was gonna get out of there! Was startin' to get a bit stir crazy."

The Texan grunted a reply, unable to think of anything much to say.

"Say...Truckie...you going somewhere?"

"Hunh? "

"Dressed like that...Thought you might be going somewhere."

Dressed like...he froze in his tracks. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby window he realized in horror that he hadn't changed out of the suit.

After a moment's hesitation he spoke, "No...no...I...uh...already went."


	7. Chapter Five

People were so much easier to deal with on the other end of a scope, the Sniper thought to himself over dinner. Even if you weren't intending to put a bullet through their brainpan they were a lot quieter from a distance.

"That last performance out there was PATHETIC ladies!" Soldier roared as he stood at the head of the mess hall table. The Australian tuned out the man and tried to finish his meal.

Most nights the other occupants at the table might ignore the man's rants but tensions were running high. With no more bail money in the budget the Administration declared the mercenaries were not to leave the base unless they wanted their pay docked. While most of the team did normally spend weeks at a time on base without leaving, there was a difference between staying on base because you had to and staying on base when you knew you could leave whenever you wanted. The idea of being trapped on base made everyone stir crazy. If the Digger didn't go hoarse soon, the Australian thought to himself as he glanced around the table, this could get ugly.

The Doctor and the Russian were at their usual places at the end of the table glaring at the self-appointed general as he fumed about how they were failing at their jobs. The Scotsman clutched his bottle in one hand and unenthusiastically picked at his food with his fork in the other. The grip on the bottle suggested he was as likely to break it over someone's head as he was to drink from it. The Pyro wasn't at the table, the team had stopped setting out a chair for...him a while ago. Pyro would disappear with a plate of food and return with it sparkling clean after some time. That was all anyone knew. It seemed safer not to think about it too hard.

"I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY MORE _FAILURE_!" Plates and glasses rattled on the table as the Soldier continued, punctuating his words by pounding the table with every other word to belabor the point. The Spy sat quietly, his food barely touched, his ever present cigarette forming a cloud of smoke over his head, watching the raving American. If he was contemplating murder, the day's events, or a new hat, Sniper couldn't tell he rarely could read the man's expression. Scout's face, however, was easy to read. He glared at the man, seething, getting more and more angry the longer the Soldier raged on. If anyone was going to start something it was probably going to be him.

Sniper heaved a sigh, there was little point responding to Soldier's earbashing, it only seemed to encourage him to yell more. All he could hope to do was finish eating before things got violent. The Australian glanced irritably at the empty place at the table - the only person who could talk him down was Truckie but the Texan had disappeared shortly after today's battle. He'd probably locked himself in his workshop again, he'd been doing that a lot since he bailed them all out.

"NONE OF YOU ARE FIT TO WEAR THOSE UNIFORMS - YOU ARE ALL A DISGRACE!"

This was the final straw.

"DISGRACE? _US?"_ the Scout shouted , jumping out of his chair. "That's pretty rich coming from the numbskull that got us in the clink!"

"I AM NOT THE ONE WHO BROKE AN AGREEMENT." the Soldier retorted, with all the conviction (and volume) of an innocent man.

"Ya pounded on their front door for forty five min-" Scout persisted.

"Lad, weren't you also-" the Scotsman asked in confusion.

"-_THAT AIN'T THE POINT_! THIS-" the Scout cut Demo off defensively ,jabbing a finger back in Soldiers direction and opened his mouth to continue. But now the rest of the team had decided to cut into the argument.

"-Zey thought you vere attacking them!"

"-maybe if Snipe's _frickin_' van wasn't _such a frickin' junkheap_-"

"THEY WOULD NOT OPEN-"

"-I'm telling ye, if ye had but _listened _to me and-"

"Dumbkoff! Zey were-"

"-ain't my fault they thought the Russians were invad-"

"-I was not going to hurt tiny-

"-was just trying to-"

"- they also thought Frenchie over here was a moles-"

"-let's not dwell on _that_."

"-IT IS NOT MY FAULT WE HAD UNRELIABLE TRANSPORT."

"-'e's right maybe if we had had a _real _car we might have gotten-"

While earlier he had been content to wait out the storm, the Australian now refused to sit there and listen to more insults against his van."Stop insulting my-" he tried to cut in but was, unsurprisingly, interrupted.

"We vould not have been spät if we had no-"

"_OI!_ STOP INSULTING SHEILA!" Sniper yelled, jerking out of his chair his voice slicing through the din. All talking stopped and the Australian suddenly felt the gaze of eleven eyes looking at him. _Judging_ him.

"Ya named your van?" the Scout barely managed before he erupted into hoots of laughter.

"That's not important!" he grunted defensively as the Spy and Medic joined in the laughter. "That's not the point. The point is..." he trailed off uneasily as the laughter continued. What was the point? He'd forgotten. He just wanted everyone to stop laughing at him. "What was the point?" he asked finally.

"The point, Private," the Soldier growled, he was rarely one to get side tracked once he had his sights in place. "is HOW YOU NUMBNUTS ARE ALL FAILURES! "

"Hey, don' yell at me," Scout interrupted having recovered from his fit of laughter "_I_ am kickin' ass out there! It's Hardhat you should be yellin' at!"

Soldier froze and glared at the boy. "...WHAT WAS THAT, SHORTPANTS?"

Scout stood up, his face forming a sneer. "You heard me, go yell at Hardhat. He's the one always droppin' the frickin' ball! He's been doing it for weeks!"

Soldier frowned walking from the head of the table towards the Scout. "ACCUSING A MEMBER OF YOUR UNIT OF SHIRKING IS-A-PRET-TY SORRY EXCUSE FOR YOUR FAILURE!" he snarled glaring down at the kid.

Scout stepped back, tucking his head down and lifting his hands up in case this was going to go from verbal to physical sparring. "I'm just sayin' Old McDonald sucks, more than usual." He looked around stubbornly to the rest of the team daring anyone else to argue with him.

There was an awkward silence as everyone else stared down at their plates. The kid had a point, the Sniper grudgingly had to admit. It was hard to fight when your defense and support was falling to pieces. Which it had been lately. He had noticed, and judging from the silence that had spread around the table, he wasn't the only one. It was hard to miss, really. Truckie was barely around these days, and the few occasions he was out of his room or workshop he was withdrawn. Something was eating at the man. And his behavior had gotten even stranger after the morning he'd bailed them all out of jail. But it hadn't been the Australian's business so he hadn't pressed the issue let alone mentioned it. Neither, did it seem, had anyone else.

Soldier glared daggers down at the lad and was about to continue berating the kid when the silence was cut by the Spy clearing his throat.

"The boy is right. " the Frenchman said when he had everyone's attention. "The Engineer is clearly distracted."

The Soldier protested in defense of the absent man but his bluster was quickly fading. "Engie's always been a hard worker," he finally grumbled down to his boots.

"He _vas,"_ the Medic joined in, much to the Sniper's surprise. Normally, the Doctor and Russian kept to themselves, not getting involved in any of the other team's issues. "But now Engineer is slipping!"

"Aye," the Scotsman chimed in, "lad's got somethin' bothering 'im."

"Monsieur Sniper," the Spy said turning to the Australian, "You talk to the laborer, do you have any idea?"

"Me?" he sputtered, he had hoped to be left out of this. "No," he shook his head "Truckie hasn't mentioned anything."

The Frenchman frowned, "We need to find out what is troubling him. If we solve his problems we will solve ours."

The Spy looked at the Australian. He was going to insist he talk to the Texan, make him spill his guts. The Sniper spoke before the Frenchman could even phrase the request.

"Leave me out of this mate. I'm no stickybeak. If he don' wanna talk about it I'm not going to force it out of him."

"Dummkopf," the Medic sneered "Has the sun baked through your skull? His problems are now ours!"

Sniper stood up from his chair about to retort when he was interrupted.

"I WILL DO IT!" Soldier said suddenly taking the floor once again. "Engie is my friend and it is my job to see that this unit runs smoothly. I will talk to him and make him to come to his senses." He straightened, puffed out his chest, saluted and marched out of the mess hall with the rest of the team staring at his departing form.

Sniper snorted , "Blooming idiot."

Medic and Heavy had already finished eating but remained at the table talking quietly to each other, waiting to see the result of Soldier's pep talk most likely. Scout likewise stayed in the mess, pacing and fidgeting. Demo had nodded off at some point and sat there snoring loudly at the table. Spy for his own reasons stuck around, and was lighting his third cigarette.

So here they all were hanging around here, burning with curiosity, like a bunch of old gossips. Even Sniper had to admit guiltily to himself that he was sticking around the mess for similar reasons. Monotony and repetition did that to you, turned you into a nosy git.

The Soldier returned after a while, more quiet than when he had left. All eyes in the room were on him as he shuffled in, shoulders hunched, his bluster gone. He made a half hearted salute to the room and cleared his throat. The silence in the room could be cut with a knife, Scout found his seat again and as one the mercenaries leaned forwards waiting for an answer.

The military man cleared his throat again. The man seemed embarrassed. He cleared his throat a third time. Finally, he opened his mouth and spoke quietly.

"Engie is... uh," he trailed off and cleared his throat again, "Engie is... uh... having...problems." He paused and as the room was hanging on his next word, cleared his throat again, for good measure. "Having problems on the home front..." The man was greeted with a table of blank looks. "_With the missus._" he hissed, as it afraid of being overheard.

There was a long awkward pause as the man's words sank in.

"So wait...Hardhat's married?"

"Yeah," Sniper replied hesitantly. The Texan had mentioned her a few times, and shown off a few photos. Her name was Irene? Ivy? He couldn't remember. Didn't matter. So _that's_ what was eating at the man? He and his wife were having a fight? He hadn't suspected they were having any problems, Truckie had always talked about her fondly. Then again the Australian hardly considered himself an expert on relationships.

"Gentleman" the Spy broke the silence and stood from his chair a self assured smile on his face. "I believe I can solve our problem"

"And what are you gonna do-" the Scout cut in determined to have the last work.

"The Engineer needs help with his woman, yes?" the Frenchman flicked some unseen dust off his lapel "That is my area of expertise" he walked to the Soldier who still stood there in embarrassed silence. "At ease, mon ami," he said patting the man on the shoulder "this should not take long."

And with that the Spy sauntered out the door.

The Soldier had barely sat back down in his chair, the pained awkward expression frozen on his face, when the Frenchman burst back in the room.

"I will not waste any of my time on that _mongrel!_" the Spy spat.

"What happened?"

"He threw a wrench at me."

The Scout snickered "Didn't like what you had to say?"

"I barely said anything." the Spy said with agitation, pulling out his cigarette case, " he threw a wrench at me and started swearing in Texan. I will not waste of my knowledge on that uncivilized _bumpkin._"

"That doesn't sound like something Truckie would do," Sniper said doubtfully "not to a team member anyway."

"Stress does strange thingz to the mind" the Medic said with a shrug "he might also be suffering from depression, maybe an operation on the strinlappen would help."

"Come again Doc?"

"The frontal lobe," the German explained calmly gesturing at his own eyes "itz simple, a long needle through the eye sockets separate the brain lobes and all the excess emotions, the depression, paranoia, all gone."

There was a long, horrified pause

"Doktor. No." Heavy said quietly, finally breaking the silence.

"It's possible for someone to live a perfectly normal life after it!" the Doctor insisted.

The Sniper swallowed and stood up from the table, "M-Maybe it's better I go talk to him." he then quickly walked out the door before the Medic could go into further detail of why random brain surgery was a good idea.

This wasn't his business, he didn't want it to be his business. He didn't have the slightest idea what he was supposed to say to the man. He was bad at handling other people's problems. Hell, he was bad at handling his own problems. But talking to the man as awkward as it would be was better than letting Medic solve the problem. Not that the rest of the team would let it come down to the that. Surely.

Grumbling to himself he walked down the stairs to the basement and down the hall to where the Engineer's workshop was located. When he reached the door he wasn't terribly surprised to see, taped above the usual sign warning what would happen to anyone who smoked around the area, a piece of paper written in large bold letters "KEEP OUT ." Trying not to feel guilty for disturbing him, he was sparing the man brain surgery after all, he knocked on the door.

There was no answer. He knocked again, more loudly in case the man hadn't heard him. A moment later there was the sound of a deadbolt being pulled back and the door swung open revealing an annoyed Engineer brandishing a spanner.

"Can NONE of yah read a damn sign?"

The Sniper stepped back hoping the wrench wasn't going to be thrown at him. "Ya gonna throw that thing at me?"

The Texan peeled back his goggles and peered up at the taller man "Yah talked to Spy." came the rather sheepish reply. It wasn't a question.

"He was a bit cranky you know, having tools chunked at him"

"So what brings_ you_ down here?" the Texan asked suspiciously.

"Eh - Just wanted to talk. See how you're doin'..." _before Medic does_, he added silently to himself.

"Soldier sent you."

"That too, yea," He admitted with a shrug. There was little sense in lying, he was not very good at it. Lying was not a skill one practiced too much when living by oneself. Lies and fancy words rarely came in handy when shooting at dingoes or crocodiles. "Look, can I come in mate?"

The Texan hesitated, the spanner still gripped tightly in his hand. He gave the Sniper a long hard look, and to the bushman's befuddlement peered past him into the shadows of the hallway. Whatever he was looking for was apparently not there. Finally, Truckie stepped back from the door letting him inside.

"Yah sort of interupted me in the middle of something," the Texan said shutting the door behind them both. "Feel free to take a seat."

He had been inside the Engineer's workshop many times before in the past, but he seemed to remember it being a bit cleaner. He frowned trying to figure out where he was supposed to sit. Various mechanical scraps and odds and ends salvaged from destroyed sentries and dispensers were on all available surfaces. Usually these were sorted into various crates below the work table but apparently Truckie hadn't gotten around to it. The calendar tacked on the wall amid a sea of memos and over complicated blue prints was two months out of date. And the room seemed to have collected some dust and a cobweb or two since he had last been down here.

"So, what did Soldier tell you to say?" The Texan asked warily as the Australian cautiously picked his way through the room to the big overstuffed chair that sat in the corner by a beat up bookcase overflowing with boxes and various books. He moved a small crate out of it and sat down carefully. The Texan sat on a high stool at the only clean patch of the work table. It looked like he had been working on some plans for... something. Seeing Sniper's interest in it, the Engineer quickly folded then up and shoved aside, out of sight.

"Eh..." the bushman hesitated as he tried to find the words.

"That I'm 'shirkin', slippin', losing my edge? That I need to 'man up'?"

The Sniper grunted noncommittally .

"It's alright. Ya can say it," the man's voice was tired and flat, "I knew this conversation was comin', in some fashion, anyway. I know I haven't been th' most _helpful_ person to have around. "

The Australian finally managed to find his voice "Is everything alright?"

The Engineer frowned and turned his attention to the concrete floor. "...Not really," the man's voice trailed off again, "Ya know I was married right?"

"Yea..." he replied hesitantly unsure where the conversation was going. Of course he knew the man had been married. The silence stretched on as he waited for the man to continue his explanation. Then it clicked. A feeble. "Oh.." was all he could manage to say.

"Yep." the Texan said quietly.

"I'm...sorry." he said uncertainly. What else could one say in a situation like this? "I'm so sorry" he repeated for good measure. "W-what happened?" he blurted.

"I don' really wanna talk about it if ya don mind" came the terse reply.

"Sorry. Sorry." he said quickly. The awkward silence descended again. It was almost suffocating. "I'll just...go then." he said uneasily getting out of the chair and stepping around the clutter. All too eager to escape this situation. The Texan grunted his good bye as the Sniper made his way out the door.

The Australian sighed to himself as he walked down the hall to go back upstairs. He had little doubt they were still there waiting for an update, like vultures. Though what he was going to say, he had little idea.

What were they supposed to do? Sure, now they knew what was eating Truckie. But this wasn't something that one could just yell away. Not that he was an expert on relationships, broken or otherwise. None of the mercenaries were - the Doctor and Heavy didn't count. Soldier could yell and bully all he liked but he doubted there was much that anyone on the team could do for the Texan.


	8. Chapter Six

_A/N - Sorry for the delay on this chapter. Life caught up with me and I got sick for a week and couldn't work on this chapter for a while. Hopefully future chapters won't take quite so long._

_Also a Roy Orbison song makes an appearance this chapter, that honestly probably needs to be heard to be believed. So for the curious the song is called "It's Over" and can be found on youtube fairly easily. _

_Thanks again for your patience and hope you enjoy the chapter._

* * *

Stretching and standing almost on tiptoe the Engineer managed to reach the light bulb hanging above him and with a gloved hand carefully loosened it - not enough for the bulb to come out of the socket, just enough for it to go dark. He stood in the hallway for a moment, letting his eyes adjust, then glanced around the hall and to the empty courtyard - there was no one around.

He reached for the phone receiver.

The receiver buzzed in his ear for was felt like an eternity before he hesitantly reached out to the phone and slowly, mechanically, began to turn the rotary and start dialing the number for home. He hadn't wanted to call home. He had avoided it for as long as he could but it seemed now he had little choice. The workshop had been torn apart, as well as his room, but the tools he needed hadn't turned up. He must have left them at home last time he'd visited.

His teeth met his lip as the call went through and he heard the first ring. His stomach clenched when the phone rang a second time. A third. A fourth. It was seven o'clock at night, where would Evie be this late? A niggling voice in the back of his mind offered a few suggestions he tried to ignore.

He was just about to give up and set the phone back on the cradle when he heard a click and a male voice on the other end of the line answer.

"Howdy."

The Engineer slammed the phone back on the hook. The clatter echoed down the hall and he glanced around half expecting someone to appear to investigate the noise. When he was sure no one was going to show up and start inquiring about the light, or try to give him a pep talk, he picked up the receiver again.

It was the wrong number. Surely, he dialed the number wrong. In the dark like this, it was easy enough to read the rotary wrong. Even if it was a number he knew by heart, one he had dialed countless times before. He had made a mistake, he'd just be more careful this time.

He dialed the number again, muttering the numbers to himself. The phone only rang once this time.

"Hello?" - the man's voice answered again. There was a man in his house. Answering his phone.

"Where's Evie?" he blurted into the phone in bewilderment.

"Eve?" the man called, his voice slightly softer, as if he was talking to someone else in the room.

"Who is it?" The Texan could hear her voice in the background. There was a short, muffled conversation he couldn't make out, it sounded like the phone was passed around and then, Evie 's voice came over the receiver, "Hello?"

His throat tightened, it had been so long since he had heard her like this. Their last conversations she'd been yelling or distant. He had wanted to hear her voice for weeks but had simultaneously been dreading it, knowing that it wouldn't be the same. But now… he leaned against the wall in the darkened hallway and closed his eyes, picturing her standing in the kitchen, coiling her fingers in the phone cord like she always did when she talked on it. For this moment he could pretend that he could talk to her like he always had. She would laugh again and they could talk about their days. He would tell her about some upgrades he was working on, and she'd talk about how her garden was coming along and about the new help. And she would still be there the next time he called. She'd always be there. He opened his mouth; to tell her he loved her, needed her, that he was sorry, that he'd quit, he'd come home, he'd do anything for her. But no sound came out.

"Who is it?" the man from earlier asked in the background. The moment was over. The Engineer swallowed bile as his heart sank to the floor and he was dragged back to reality. Back to the dark hallway in the middle of nowhere. Alone.

"Hello?" she repeated, her tone irritated.

"Evie?" he finally managed with some difficulty, his voice almost cracking.

There was a hitch in her voice when she said his name, then it hardened, "So you finally found time to call?" He winced at the unfamiliar venom in her tone, face flushing with both shame and indignation.

"Didn't take you long to find someone else." He shot back accusingly, his voice louder and harsher than he had intended.

"It's not like that!" she said, defensive. "He's helpin' me pack."

"Helpin' himself more like." he retorted.

"Wouldn' be none of your business even if he was." she reminded him icily "Least now someone has a min' to."

He swallowed, unable to think of anything to counter this.

"So why _did _you call?" she asked stiffly.

"I..." he trailed off taking a moment to try to calm down enough to collect his thoughts and failed. He kept picturing their little kitchen back home with Evie standing there. With another man. Was he holding her in his arms comforting her even during this conversation? "I-I was...It doesn't matter." he managed to spit out and slammed the phone back in its cradle.

There was a man in his house. She'd _replaced_ him. The Texan slumped against the wall, gritting his teeth, his mind whirling with images of Evie in the embrace of this stranger. Touching. Caressing. Kissing. Did he make her laugh? Did she say his name like she used to say his?...Had they slept together yet?

Blood started pounding in his ears. He strode quickly through the halls of the base as if he could outpace his own thoughts. He needed out of here. He needed to be somewhere else. He needed to be Home. But that wasn't an option anymore. There was no point. He made his way to his pickup truck. The base was stifling, full of people he didn't want to talk to. People who asked too many questions. People who only had beer and awkward silence to offer. He climbed into his truck and started the engine. It didn't matter where he was going he decided as he pulled away from the base onto the dirt road, so long as it was far away from _here_.

He drove, his eyes not really focusing on the road, his mind's eye was picturing Her. Another man touching her. Kissing her. Whispering promises in her ear. Her smiling in response and reaching for the man 's hand. Leading him to the bedroom. To their bed.

The truck sped up as he brought his foot down on the accelerator. He drove on for miles, the desert stretched out before him lit only by the stars and his headlights. How long he had been driving he wasn't sure. The road signs around here were few and far between. He drove on, the monotony of the road providing little distraction against the thoughts and images burning themselves into his mind. Where was he even driving? He hadn't thought about it, he had just driven by reflex. It wasn't until he reached a sign helpfully pointing out the exit for the highway that he realized he was heading for Texas. Home. To Her.

He slammed on the brakes, bringing the truck to a violent stop. The road was deserted, the only sound was the idling of his engine. He stared at the sign in the glow of his head lights, his heart pounding. What would he even do if he went there? It was over, he reminded himself. No amount of begging, reasoning, or violence would solve that. He swallowed, his stomach churning. Sick with regret, he pulled the truck into a U turn.

The Texan was unable to go home but not ready in any way to go back to the base. Driving around aimlessly in the desert at night was a good way to get lost, he reminded himself. Desperate for escape, he found himself pulling up a dusty dirt drive to a roadhouse with a flickering neon sign.

The Texan turned off his ignition and climbed out of his truck. His boots crunched on the gravel as he opened the door and walked into the building.

The bar was not much to speak of; a big open cavern of wood panels and cigarette smoke, old posters and ads from days gone by that no one ever bothered to remove covered the walls. The jukebox was crooning with all the acoustic quality of a cat in a tin bucket. But it wasn't his truck, and it wasn't full of anyone who knew him or his business so it was preferable to the base.

The Texan perched on a barstool and ordered a beer taking in the place he now found himself in. It was nearly deserted except for a few locals chatting or playing pool and one man sitting alone by the jukebox, sniffling loudly into his glass. Engineer quietly accepted the mug the bar tender placed in front of him. He took a sip of beer, tasting nothing, and tried not to think about home. Tried not to think of Evie.

"_Your baby doesn't love you anymore"_ the jukebox sang. He frowned and took a longer sip. _"Send falling stars that seem to cry, Your baby doesn't want you anymore"_

_"It breaks your heart in two, to know she's been untrue"_ The voice of Roy sang on as his hands balled into fists. His mind going back to picturing someone else kissing her, holding her. Undressing her... His mind continued despite his wishes, continuing the painful slide show. She'd replaced him. The papers weren't even filed and she'd already found herself another man. Had she even thought twice about it? Any regret? _"But oh what will you do? When she says to you, There's someone new, We're through we're through_." He took a long swig from his glass, needing it to fog his mind. How long did it take for her to forget about him? A day? A week? Replaced him and left him all alone. _"All the rainbows in the sky start to weep then say goodbye, You won't be seeing rainbows anymore"_ He finished off the mug, and having found little solace in the bottom of that glass, he ordered another.

_"...But you'll see lonely sunsets after all"_ It was all over and he was alone. In the desert. In the middle of nowhere. With a bunch of lunatics. The bartender put another mug of beer in front of him. _"It's over, it's over, it's oooooooveeeeeeer" _the jukebox reminded him. The homesick Texan grasped the beer mug in his hand and drank until it was empty.

_"Golden days before they end_" People entered and left as the jukebox caterwauled again and the Texan fumed to himself. All alone. Stuck out in the middle of a desert. "..._Whisper secrets to the wind, Your baby won't be near you anymore." _What was the point of it all anymore? He asked himself irritably. Working with a bunch of blockheads, getting killed every day for a pay check to spend on what? Send to who? "_Your baby doesn't want you anymore, It's over" _He stared sadly into his mug but the dregs of his drink held no answers for him. They had been saving up for the future. Pay off the debts on the farm. Travel. _"...But oh what will you do? When she says to you we're through..." _Now there was no had always talked about plans, what they were going to do when his contract was done. If it ever ended.

Evie had often complained about the contract extensions, the lack of vacation and the lack of leave and his continuous absence. But he hadn't been paying attention. He had just shrugged it off, assuming she was venting and that it didn't mean anything. Looking back now he cringed at his own blind stupidity. "_It's over"_

The jukebox wailed on _"...All the rainbows in the sky. Start to weep and say goodbye…" _How long had she been thinking about divorce? Had there been any tears? Any debate? Or had it been a clear cut decision?

"…_Setting suns before they fall, echo to you that's all, that's all"_

He buried his face in his hands. He should have been home more often. Not allowed the contract extensions. Requested - no - _demanded_ more leave. Called more often. Never taken the damn job in the first place. He could have done something. Should have done something. Anything. But he hadn't. Why hadn't he? "_It's over, It's over, it's oooooooooooooooveeeeeeeeeeer !_"

"_Your baby doesn't love you anymore" _the jukebox reminded him. The words echoed off the walls as the song started playing once again. The Texan frowned, he didn't remember this song being anywhere near this long. Maybe the jukebox was malfunctioning? He looked up from his empty beer mug to the jukebox. Sitting at a table next to it, was a hunched sullen figure with a couple of empty glasses at his elbow and a pile of dimes at his finger tips.

"_Send falling stars that seem to cry"_ the song continued on. Reminding him. "_Your baby won't be near you anymore"_ He grit his teeth as the chorus repeated, "_It's over"_

He could not take this anymore. He needed to do something to stop this. If he had to listen to this song one more time…. The Texan half stumbled off his bar stool and clumsily made his way to the jukebox. The beer had gone to his head a lot quicker than he expected. The other man sat back in his chair eyes half closed, the dimes clinking through his fingers as he mouthed along with the song.

"H-Hey" the Engineer said, trying to get the man's attention. Lost in his own thoughts, the man ignored him. "HEY!" he said a bit more loudly over the music.

The man jerked up in his chair like a startled animal, blinking owlishly at the Texan.

"Whadoyawan?" he slurred.

As he looked at the man, the Texan found his words caught in his throat. The man was drunk, unshaven, his eyes were red, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days- he looked about as bad as the Texan felt. Their eyes met and there was the briefest moment of shared pain, of being lost and having no idea what to do about it, knowing nothing would be the same. Another lovesick idiot he thought bitterly to himself.

_"It's over, It's over, It's oooooooooooover" _ the jukebox reminded just in case he'd forgotten why he had come over here.

"Could ya play somethin' else?" he blurted. _Something else. Anything else. _

The man didn't seem to understand or hear him. He lurched toward the jukebox, dime in hand. "Royunderstans" he dribbled "only Royknows" he said in a loud soggy whisper as his hand reached to feed the machine another dime.

Desperately, impulsively, the Texan placed his hand on the coin slot of the jukebox. At first the man didn't realize - he mumbled some syllables of confusion as he jabbed the dime into the back of the Engineer's hand instead of the slot. At last light slowly dawned on the man's face as he realized the source of his problem.

"Geroff" he insisted trying to pull the offending hand out of the way. When that failed he tried to push the Texan out of the way. But the drunk, while persistent, didn't have much success in budging the man. Not taking defeat easily, he resorted to jabbing a sharp elbow into the Engineer's diaphragm. Leaving the Texan half bent over gasping for breath he tried to step around to reach the jukebox again.

"No yah don'" the Texan wheezed, shoving the man away from the jukebox and into a table. As both the man and the table fell over in a clatter of shattering glass and coins and the bar tender started yelling, it briefly occurred to him that he should feel guilty, but all he felt was satisfaction as the drunk staggered to his feet fists swinging. The man even when sober was probably no prize fighter and the sloppy punches were just hitting empty air and the trained mercenary grinned manically, easily sidestepping every swing… until he got careless. As drunk as he was the man was also lucky, and random punch managed to catch the Texan squarely on the chin. The force of the blow surprised him and knocked him back several staggering steps. Taking advantage of the Engineer's surprise, the drunk landed another blow to the side of his face.

All the background noise faded and all the Texan could see or think was red. He reacted mindlessly lunging forward and punching the man in the nose - sending the drunk reeling backwards in a fountain of blood splatter. While the man was still disoriented he grabbed him by his stained shirt collar and pinned the drunk to the jukebox.

"That's enough!" the Texan heard indistinctly and felt someone grab him by the elbows before he could hit the man again. He looked over his shoulder as he tried to shake off his captors.

"Grab him!" the other bar patrons held tightly to him, pulling him back from the jukebox and the other man, breaking up the fight.

He struggled to free himself and had just managing to shake an arm free of the grip of mediators when the sound of sirens outside announced the arrival of the local police.

The Engineer slumped down on the bench in the town drunk tank with a groan. The side of his face throbbed and the alcohol had begun to clear and rational thought was seeping through the haze.

The phone call home. Evie replacing him. Storming off base against company's orders. Getting drunk. Picking a fight over a damn song on a jukebox. He buried his face in his hands as memories of the night came flooding back to him with embarrassingly clear detail. He weighed his options and tried to figure out how he was going to get out here. Those options were quite few, he realized. There was no more bail money in the company budget, he remembered , feeling guilty. Maybe he'd stay here, he thought sadly to himself. Stay here and not cause anyone anymore trouble.

He had just about accepted this plan when the drunk in the cell next to him stirred. The man had passed out in the police car on the way from the bar and snored loudly all through the booking process. But now he was awake and to the Texan's horror and dismay, began to sing off-key to himself, "its ooooveer"

Maybe calling the base wouldn't be so bad. Someone could bail him out and he'd pay them back later. But who would he call? He could call Sniper, he might help out… but after the awkward chat in the workshop they hadn't spoken much. He wasn't sure he could stand another awkward, stilted conversation as he tried to explain just why he had seen fit to run off, get drunk and pick a fight.

Soldier wouldn't ask questions, to him getting arrested was something common place. But that was the problem, calling Soldier was far likelier to end with the other man somehow in the cell next to his. Then they'd have to call someone else to bail them _both _out.

Demoman might help, but he might not be sober. So he'd show up drunk and also be in the next cell. Pyro wasn't allowed to drive after the incident with Soldier's jeep, and the balloons. Not that the little firebug was supposed to be driving then either. It just made RED issue stricter rules about how closely everyone guarded their car keys.

The Doctor he always felt uncomfortable around. And lately even more so. Something about the way the man seemed to be sizing him up for… _something_ set his teeth on edge. The thought of riding in a car alone with Medic… he shuddered.

Spy. The Texan frowned to himself. He had had enough of Spies...

He could call Heavy. The Russian and him got along alright. Not that they spent a lot of time together. But the man seemed unlikely to start any conversations about poor decision making. If only due to his limited English vocabulary. He wasn't sure the man would help but, at this point, seemed the best option.

Or he could just stay here, he thought to himself nerve fading. Heavy probably wouldn't help. He was probably better off staying in this cell, quietly forgotten.

"It's over… its oooooooooooveeeeer"

The Texan winced as the drunk in the cell next to him keened in a pitch usually reserved for safety whistles.

"Hey, officer !" he yelled out over the slurred singing of his neighbor. "Officer! How 'bout that phone call?"

The phone had barely rung a second time before it was picked up, the Texan was hardly surprised to hear Scout's voice on the other end.

"_Hello ladies, _ you've reached RED Base. This is-"

"-Scout. What in tarnation?" he asked, cutting off the younger man.

"_'Ey-_ Hardhat!" the kid's tone shifted gears without missing a beat "didn' know yer workshop had a phone... "

He decided not to waste time correcting the boy ," Can ya get Heavy on the line for me?"

"What d'ya want _him_ for? Why ya callin' anyway?"

"Just get 'im on the phone!"

"Geez, _touchy_ …" this was followed by the sound of footsteps fading away.

Silence and then a minute or so later the sound of the phone being picked up again.

"Why does Engineer want to talk?" he heard Heavy ask, and there was a pause before Heavy spoke again "Hello?" the Russian rumbled into the phone.

"Heavy I-"

"Hold on," the other man interrupted, " - why is it so dark here?" The Engineer cringed as he remembered his own tampering with the light fixture earlier.

"Just screw the bulb back in, it's loose," he said hastily hoping the Russian wasn't going to ask for an explanation. "Look, Heavy I need a favor-"

"Ah! There is light now!" the Russian exclaimed, pleased.

"Heavy, I need you t-"

"Hey, Tex!" a voice from behind the Engineer cut in before he could finish his sentence. He turned to look over his shoulder, an officer came in carrying a clipboard. "Your ride's here."

"Why did you call?" Heavy asked through the receiver while the Texan stared blankly at the officer, unsure he heard correctly.

"You can go, your friend came and paid up. " The man repeated tapping his clipboard.

"But I haven't ev -" he frowned, now looking at the phone receiver.

"Engineer? Are you there? "

"C'mon I haven't got all day. " the officer insisted.

"Heavy I-I have to... go... now. " Engineer said in quiet bewilderment. There had to be some mistake. Reluctantly, he hung up the phone, cutting the confused Russian off. Would they allow him another phone call when the mistake was figured out?

The Engineer followed the officer down the corridor from the cells to the front of the station. This _had_ to be a mistake. Who would come and pay his bail? No one on the team knew where he was. Heck, _he _didn't rightly know where he was. Was this some case of mistaken identity? Someone took him for some _other_ Texan wandering around New Mexico starting bar fights? That seemed… unlikely, now that he thought about it. They would have had to have his name. Unless there _was_ someone else with the same name. No one besides the folks at RED knew his legal name.

Except, apparently, the BLU Spy.

The Texan froze in the doorway of the station lobby gaping at the sight of the Frenchman in his crisp blue suit, leisurely dangling a his cigarette from gloved fingers standing at the front desk and chatting amicably with the deputy. The man looked up and smirked at him. What was _he _doing here? _Why_ was he here? How did he_ find_ him? Besides that, _why _would he waste time and money bailing him out of jail? "Bu-how-wha" he sputtered. "Are yah _followin_' me!?" he asked in bewilderment trying to stop himself from yelling and failing.

"Ah, mon ami," the Frenchman addressed him, happily ignoring the question "sha-"

"-Ah _ain't_ your friend." the Texan cut him off, restraining the urge to lunge over the desk and strangle him. They probably frowned on murder in plain sight at a police station. "Are yah followin' me?" he asked again.

The Spy exchanged looks with the deputy who shrugged , "I said ya might wanna wait a bit for him to sober up."

"Ah _am_ sobered!" the Texan retorted through grit teeth. "_You're _followin' me!" he snarled jabbing an accusing finger at the Frenchman.

"I was, as you Americans say, in ze neighborhood." came the casual reply.

"You just _happened _to be here!?"

"Oui."

"How did you even _know_ where I was?"

The Spy merely shrugged in response.

"Why'd you bail me out?"

"You're welcome." Spy answered with self satisfaction, once again ignoring the question.

The Texan opened his mouth to retort when the deputy cleared his throat, cutting into the conversation. "Sir," he said to the Spy, " I think you need to take your friend out of here."

"I do agree," the Spy said quietly with a nod "He'z been in such a state recently. " he added sadly to the deputy who nodded in understanding. The Texan opened his mouth to protest that he was, in fact, perfectly fine and that, moreover, he was standing right here, but the Frenchman cut him off before he could talk.

"Come along, Monsieur," he said to the Texan, "If they decide to detain you again, I'm not paying. "

Engineer glared sullenly at the other man, briefly debating. He could leave now with the side winding back stabbing snake. Or he could go back to his cell. His cell, next to the other cell.

"But you won't be seeing rainbows anymore!"

With the dying cat for a neighbor.

Finally, grudgingly, he walked past the doorway, past the deputy's desk and his reproaching gaze, and past the smug Frenchman. The Spy followed, saying his farewell to the deputy, and the two stepped out of the police station into the crisp early morning air.

The Engineer continued walking, determined to leave the police station, the awful night, and the Spy behind, when a familiar smug voice asked, "I don't even get a thank you?"

He turned sharply on his heel to face the Frenchman, "I didn't _ask_ yah to get me out!"

"Did you _want_ to stay in prison? "

There was a stubborn silence, in which the Spy waited for a reply that the Texan refused to give. He hadn't _wanted_ to be in prison. The Frenchman bailing him out, suspicious as it was, had saved him the trouble of explaining things to his team. Probably spared him another batch of judging looks and awkward silences. But of course, he wasn't going to give the man satisfaction by admitting it.

"You're welcome." the Spy said dryly breaking the silence.

"What's your game?" the Engineer snapped suddenly. Bailing him out, kidnapping him, taking him to a strip club - the man wasn't doing this out of the goodness of his heart. He had to have an angle. A _reason_. Besides trying to drive him insane. Though he had to admit, that didn't sound too unlikely a motive when he thought about it.

"Game?" the Frenchman looked at him blankly like he was insane.

"What are you after?" he persisted.

"I don't know what you are implying." the Frenchman said coolly, walking into the parking lot. He should have known better than to ask. Spies, no matter which side they were on, never gave anyone a straight answer.

It was probably best to let the snake leave, he decided. There was no way he could make the man talk. No way that wouldn't get him arrested all over again anyway. He could kill the man later. Even off the battlefield, one could hide a body easily out in the desert. These thoughts were interrupted by the sickening sputter of an engine trying to turn over. The Engineer gaped as the engine finally sputtered info life and he realized where the horrendous sound was coming from.

His team's Spy owned an expensive European sports car. It was everything one expected a Spy to own. Fast, quiet, and sleek. He had never given much thought to what the BLU team's Spy drove...but he never would have pictured a Vespa. Even if he had, the Texan wouldn't have then imagined it to be yellow. He stared as the sickly sounding motor scooter pulled out of the parking space and away from the police station. It was only then that he realized that he had left his own truck at the roadhouse.… Ten miles away. He doubted anyone would be willing to give him a ride back to it.

Just as he was about to resign himself to a long walk back to his truck the Vespa turned sharply with a lurch and puttered back towards the station. The Engineer frowned in confusion as the Frenchman idled the poor abused machine in front of him. "I almost forgot," the Spy said, slightly louder than usual to be heard over the clatter of the dubious vehicle's engine. "they chained your machine up. The lot is on the other side of town." the man gestured.

Engineer frowned opening his mouth to ask how the Frenchman knew this in the first place and in the second place, why he would tell him. But the Spy cut him off.

"You're welcome." he said smugly. At least he was trying to be smug. It was hard to be pompous and condescending when you had to yell over the noise of your own malfunctioning vehicle.

With that, the Frenchman and the Vespa puttered away again, leaving the bewildered Texan standing in a cloud of dust and blue exhaust. The French bastard really needed to have someone fix that contraption before it died and left him stranded somewhere. With the Engineer's luck, stranded in this damn desert with him.

It had taken a fair bit of arguing to get his truck out of hock but the Engineer had finally managed it without punching the owner of the impound lot in the face. Considering the night and morning he'd had, the Texan considered that a great accomplishment. But finally, in mid afternoon he had arrived back on the base.

He would have preferred for his arrival to occur without any notice or comment. But he found Soldier waiting for him at the door, this just wasn't his day.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?" the man demanded with a bellow.

"I don't wanna talk about it." the Texan said flatly as he got out of his truck and walked past the man, trying to sidestep the impending rant.

"YOU DISOBEYED ORDERS!" the man continued, yelling at the Engineer's retreating back.

"Yea." was the firm reply, the Texan wasn't denying the accusations, they were true. He wasn't particularly proud of it, but they were true.

"YOU WENT AWOL!" Soldier persisted - not sure how to react.

"Yep." the Texan replied as he trudged up the stairs. If the blockhead wanted to continue this lecture he could just follow him. He, however, was going to go to bed, and hopefully wake up when it was another day. A day that he didn't end up in jail, a day that didn't find him indebted to some damn meddling Frenchman. What was the snake playing at?

"You abandoned your post!" the Soldier berated him, following the Texan up the stairs. The military man's rants continued, but the Texan was too lost in thought to pay attention. How much did the Spy know about him? The man knew his name, and his suit size. While not really important information, it was troubling he knew even that much. It implied the man knew more.

"Hello, Engineer!" the Russian's booming voice cut through the Soldier's ranting. The Engineer waved a distracted greeting, his mind still whirring away at current problems. What _was_ the Spy after?

"What were you calling for?" the Russian prompted after a hopeful pause.

"YOU WERE SHIRKING YOUR DUTIES!" the Soldier, refusing to stop his blustering for anyone, exclaimed.

"Hunh?"

"Why were you calling?" Heavy repeated to the distrait Texan.

"WHERE _WERE_ YOU?" the Soldier demanded to know.

"I was...I called cause…" the Texan trailed off. In the middle of damn nowhere. In jail. "_How did he even find me?" _he muttered, walking up the hall to his room, leaving the men and their unanswered questions behind. The Soldier and the Russian stared blankly after the Texan as he unlocked the door to his room and upon entering locked it behind him.


	9. Chapter Seven

_Author's Note - Sorry for the delay on this, holidays kicked my ass, and then I got sick. Then the chapter turned into a ridiculously long thing. Thank you for your patience. _

It wasn't stealing, Engineer told himself prying the security camera off its mount on the wall. It was only _borrowing._ When it was working, the camera was supposed to be monitoring the base for intruders and security breaches. It was reappropriating really, he tried to assure himself as he walked swiftly down the hall with the device tucked under his arm.

The camera, which had been in one of the less frequented portions of the base, had been broken for months. The Texan had a few theories on how it could be fixed, but RED frowned on their equipment being tampered with so until now he had left it alone. It was unlikely the camera would be missed until RED sent in a maintenance crew for the annual round of repairs and upgrades. Even then, if its absence was noticed it could probably be blamed on a stray grenade or rocket.

He took the long way to his workshop to avoid anyone who'd ask questions like _why_ exactly he had stolen- _borrowed- _ a security camera or _what _he intended to do with it. There was no lie he could devise that would provide adequate explanation for it. And the truth was ... he didn't really feel like explaining.

For reasons he would not even try to understand, the enemy Spy had taken an interest in him. He had originally thought that the night at the strip club had simply been some sort of strange prank. A very elaborate prank by someone with a rather odd sense of humor, but still a prank. Something the Spy had done for… whatever reasons nosy French bastards do anything. Just a onetime joke and that was it. The Texan had been prepared to accept it at that, and take the knowledge that he'd been attacked by a floor lamp, dumped into a broken down scooter, dressed without his consent into a perfectly tailored suit, and hauled away to a strip club, to his grave.

He had assumed- hoped, really - that the Frenchman, having achieved whatever he was after, would go on to… lurking in shadows, listening through key holes, buying more expensive ties, spending small fortunes on cigarettes, puttering around on arthritic Vespas. Anything that wasn't bothering him.

Gritting his teeth, he stomped down the basement steps; but the Spy apparently hadn't finished with him. What was the man playing at? Why bail him out? How had Spy found him? Had the Spy followed him? Nervously, the Engineer glanced over his shoulder, was the bastard following him even now?

The Texan unlocked the workshop door and slipped inside, locking the newly installed deadbolts behind him. Stepping around the clutter, he placed the camera on one of the few clear spots on the table. Then he picked up a wrench…and swung it around the room, hitting the various bits of scrap metal and equipment that were scattered about the place. This achieved nothing but a tremendous amount of noise and the Texan stopped as abruptly as he started, feeling silly. But at least now he was sure that he was alone to work without being watched.

Setting the wrench down, Engineer took a deep breath and relaxed, turning his attention to the work bench and the borrowed camera. If this plan worked out he would hopefully have some sort of idea what the Frenchman was doing. He removed the casing carefully and got a good look at the insides of the thing. And just as he expected, there was the broken motor drive. Easily replaced and the camera would work again. He smiled to himself as he began to take the machine apart.

Three weeks being confined to base had left the RED team on edge and at each other's throats. Outside of battle the mercenaries avoided each other unless they had no other choice. Meals were served with glares and stony silence, then everyone went off to their rooms or other corners of the base. But occasions like the weekly mail call were unavoidable, especially since the duty of passing out the mail had been taken over by the blowhard Soldier whose unwritten procedures would not allow the mail be handed out unless everyone was present.

As the team grudgingly gathered in the mess hall the invisible BLU Spy watched from the rafters and congratulated himself once again. It was true he hadn't intended or _planned_ for the team to get arrested and end up in this situation when he had stranded them out in the desert, but he was still the cause. More or less.

The Scout came in with the Scotsman, rambling, the older man blatantly ignoring him as he sat down. The Scout didn't sit but instead remained on his feet still talking loudly to anyone who was listening- which was no one- about that one time he bashed someone's skull in. The Sniper was already seated at the far end of the table, long legs propped up in the table, idly sharpening his knife of over compensation.

The Texan's chair remained unsurprisingly empty. After the man's rather pathetic night out he had stayed in his room or his workshop. Sulking. Though the whereabouts of the Engineer was not his concern at the moment.

The Heavy and the Medic strolled in, the German excitedly recounting some gory story of past medical exploits with the Russian, who'd obviously heard it before, chuckling at all the appropriate parts. Not far behind the rest of the group came the Soldier with a sack slung over his shoulder with the Pyro following closely behind him like some masked lap dog. But more importantly, there was no sign of the RED team's Spy. The Frenchman hadn't expected to find him here anyway.

Despite the orders RED had given the men, the RED Spy was disappearing; going off, somewhere. The frequency of the man's absence had caught the other Spy's attention. He was beginning to suspect that there was a more interesting reason at play than mere restlessness. While the man was secretive naturally, he had lately grown even more so.

The Spy was coming and going at odd hours, he had long, hushed conversations on the telephone. Though the BLU Spy had yet to manage to catch more than an occasional word before the conversations were abruptly ended, it was fairly obvious something was being hidden. He had little clue what his rival Spy was hiding but should some of the man's mail _happen _to find its way into his hands, he might have some idea.

The older American stood at the head of the table looking over the room, counting slowly under his breath. He frowned when his count came up short. He counted again just to be sure.

"Alright Maggots, we are missing men!" he announced angrily, immediately placing blame on everyone else who had shown up.

"Yea, so?"

"WE CAN NOT PROCEED UNITL ALL MEN ARE PRESENT."

A groan of annoyance erupted from the table of mercenaries.

"Are ye jokin?" the Demo man fumed.

"WE ARE MISSING SPY AND ENGINEER," the Soldier insisted.

"Come on!" the Scout protested, "We don't have to wait for those knuckleheads, do we?"

"WHERE ARE SPY AND ENGINEER?" was the only answer the half wit received.

"Can't we start withou' em?" the Scotsman cut in.

"NO. THAT WOULD BE AGAINST STANDARD OPERATING PROCEDURE." the Soldier persisted with all the flexibility of a brick wall and half the intelligence.

"So what are we supposed t'do? Sit around and see if they bother t'show up?" the Sniper asked irritably.

"Like that'll be a change for ya," the Demoman retorted.

"Ya tryin' to say somethin'?" the Australian asked indignantly.

"What? Say somethin' about ye just sittin' aboot while the rest of us are actually fightin'? Not 't all!"

"MEN - ARGUING DURING MAIL CALL IS ALSO AGAINST STANDARD PROCEDURE" the Soldier interjected but was ignored by the two.

The Australian sat up in his chair, "Least I don't show up on the field so off my face I have to be told who's winning!"

"Says the lass whose afraid to get her wee hands dirty in a _real fight_."

The Scout jerked back in surprise as the Sniper stabbed his knife into the table and got to his feet. "I'll show ya a real fight, ya wobbly drunk."

"FIGHTING IS NOT ALLOWED DURING MAIL CALL!" the Soldier bellowed but his words fell on deaf ears.

The Demo snorted and rose from his chair, grinning, "I'd like to see ya try, ya bleedin' bawjaws."

The Spy leaned carefully to get a better view of the unfolding chaos. The RED team seemed divided as to what to do. Scout, after his initial reaction had stepped out of the way and the Medic watched on with a manic gleam in his eye.

"DO NOT DO IT MAGGOTS!" the American yelled again to no avail, the masked maniac behind him stood there mutely watching the proceeding with… something the Frenchman was hesitant to call curiosity.

"ENOUGH!" the Russian roared. The room froze as the giant stepped in between the two men, to Spy's disappointment. The Demo opened his mouth to protest but the man grabbed him and the Sniper by their faces separating them to much muffled complaint.

"Sit down here" the Heavy ordered, shoving both of them roughly back in their chairs.

"NIETHER OF YOU DARE TO MOVE ANOTHER INCH OR I'LL HAVE YOU LICK THE LATRINES CLEAN!" the Soldier raged at them as if he was the one who had restored order.

Heavy ignored the lunatic and silently glowered down at the Demo and the Sniper, he didn't have to tell them not to move to get them to stay in their seats. The pair scowled at the interfering giant but remained in their seats, apparently realizing the futility of dissention against a man as big as an ox.

"THE ENEMY IS OUT THERE! NOT IN HERE!" the Soldier roared oblivious to the BLU Spy's stifled snort. "I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY INCITEMENT IN THE RANKS DO I MAKE MYSELF CL-"

"Yo, CAPTAIN CREWCUT!" the Scout's voice pierced through the older American's ravings.

The Soldier stopped for a moment frowning in confusion at the boy. "WHAT ARE Y-"

"WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO ABOUT THE MAIL?"

"WE ARE GOING TO WAIT FOR THE REST OF THE TEAM TO ARRIVE."

"COME ON!" the Scout whinged. "My cookies are getting stale in that mail sack!"

"WE MUST FOLLOW STANDARD OPERATING PROCEDURE"

"Surely ve can work around su-" the Medic cut in haughtily.

"WE ARE NOT COMMUNISTS!" the Soldier interrupted the German's logic and continued his tirade. "THIS IS AMERICA AND WE FOLLOW THE LAWS!"

The Sniper tried to stand up but Heavy moved towards him so he sat back down "This is bloody jiggered!" he protested, "Get Truckie up here! " he muttered something that the Spy couldn't hear from his perch. The Heavy nodded in agreement.

The Russian turned to the Scout who was about to continue yelling at the Soldier. The Spy had to strain to hear Heavy over the Soldier's ravings. "Get Engineer in here."

"What?"

"Get. Engineer. In. Here." the man repeated.

"But Hardhat's-"

"Now."

"Okay, okay! _Jeez!_" the Scout quickly left the room, the other American being too busy lecturing to see the boy slip out the door.

The Spy shifted uncomfortably on the rafter and began to rethink his plan, he desperately needed a cigarette and it seemed the team was unlikely to get their mail or leave any time soon. Just as he began debating about dispatching the Soldier himself to shut the man up and move the proceedings along the Scout returned with the annoyed Texan in tow. The Engineer looked tired, annoyed and bewildered, his wrench clutched in his fist as he watched the proceedings with a frown. The Soldier who had his back to the door ranted on.

"THIS COUNTRY WILL COLLAPSE AND BE OVERUN WITH HIPPIES IF WE START TO CAST ASIDE RULES AND PROCEDURE!"

With a sigh the Texan walked further into the room, "So are we getting our mail now?"

Startled, the Soldier turned to face the Texan. There was a pause before the man blustered on, "W-WE WERE JUST WAITING FOR YOU AND SPY."

"So I'm here, can we get on with it?" the Engineer returned calmly.

The Soldier frowned, his voice dropping back to more normal levels, though still his piercing voice carried, "We cannot proceed without all team members present." he hesitated then added ,"It's in the book."

The idiot seemed almost apologetic?

"Well, Soldier," the Texan said quietly glancing around the room, "I hate to say it, but it looks like this is everyone who's going to show up."

"But Spy is not here." the Soldier insisted.

The Engineer frowned at the mention of the other man, "We can go on without 'im. You can just slide anything he gets under his door." he explained reasonably.

"But…" the Soldier trailed off.

"You aren't gonna do anything to his mail."

"No. I would not." the idiot replied, offended at the mere thought.

"Exactly. So you just pass out the mail, and we'll set aside anything that - that Spy gets and he can pick it up when he decides to show."

The BLU Spy smiled to himself, this worked out conveniently for him, the Soldier probably wouldn't notice if he borrowed anything set aside for the absent Spy.

The Soldier nodded, seemingly satisfied with this suggestion. The room remained silent as he set the mail bag on the floor and opened it, fearing that any interruption might cause the Soldier to suddenly realize what he was doing and close it back up again. The Engineer, apparently deciding his work was done, went to the table and sank into his chair with a frustrated sigh.

The Soldier reached into the bag and began handing out the mail to the team members. Medic received a small box covered in warning labels. He left the room with a barely contained laugh that made the rest of the company uneasy. The Russian followed after, him shortly after his own mail in hand. Most of the team, eager to escape each other, took their mail and bolted.

Some stayed to open their mail - like the Pyro who eagerly opened up a box to reveal several balls of yarn. The Frenchman frowned in confusion, what would the creature want with that?

"_Fi_-nally!" the Scout's voice carried to the rafters as the boy's mail was handed over. Shaking his head to try to clear his mind from the horrific possibilities, the Spy tore his attention away from the Pyro, who was shambling out the door, and glanced back to the mail bag and the Soldier.

The Scout was trying to cram three biscuits in his mouth at once while the Texan silently received his mail, a letter or two, a catalog and a large official looking envelope. He stood there for a moment staring at the envelope, his head low so the Spy could not see the man's expression.

"Didn't think we got our tax papers this early." the Scout commented managing to still talk- albeit disgustingly - with his mouth full. The Texan gave him a brief pained look but said nothing.

"Aw shit…are those yer divorce…" the young man trailed off, miraculously speechless as he realized his faux pas. "Uh…" his eyes sank to the floor. The Engineer turned to leave, but the Scout suddenly reached into the box he was holding and handed the Texan a biscuit- Spy was less than surprised to see the biscuit boy gave was what appeared to be the only burnt one in the box.

The Texan blinked sharply before accepting it with a nod and murmured turning back to the door to make his exit. As he left the Soldier grimaced as if he wanted to say something but did not. Turning back to the mail bag, the man pulled out the last few items. A magazine that he tucked under his arm, and a couple of letters.

"Those for Spook?" Scout asked, desperate to clear the tension. The Spy cursed to himself, if the Soldier was by himself he could have attempted to steal the letters right out from under his nose. But the presence of the boy made this more difficult. If he killed the pair, his meddling and presence would be known. Why was the boy still here?

The Soldier grunted the affirmative slinging the empty mail bag over his shoulder. "I am going to slide them under his door." he said, sounding more like he was reminding himself than telling the boy as the pair walked towards the door.

The mess hall doors swung shut, finally leaving the Spy alone. Alone and free to climb down from his uncomfortable hiding place. He needed to get to those letters. He also needed to stretch, get circulation flowing in his legs again. But most of all he needed a cigarette. He'd get the letters later, he fumed to himself, waiting a few minutes to let his cloak recharge before making his way back to his own base.

"What are ye doin'?"

The Texan looked up at the Demoman from his position, squatting in the dust and gravel behind his pickup truck. He shifted uncomfortably, hesitating, and tried to think of something to say. Something that didn't sound overly paranoid.

"Jus' checkin' for… leaks," he replied at last.

"Leaks?" the Scotsman's eye narrowed in thought. "Wit' that?" he asked, gesturing as the modified hand held radio the Engineer held in his hand.

"….Yeah." he snapped defensively and went back to looking at his truck fender, running the device along it, listening intently for any change in the static crackling.

"Leaks o' what?"

"Well, ya see…" he tried to buy some time to think of an appropriate response that didn't sound completely paranoid. Unable to do so, the Texan cleared his throat and mumbled some long technical jargon occasionally throwing the word "frequency" around in hopes the man would go away. Thankfully, Demo decided questioning a madman was a waste of a perfectly good afternoon and went on his way.

Glancing up to see the retreating figure, Engineer straightened and put the radio back in his tool belt with an agitated sigh. He was sure the modifications worked, but he had gone over and scanned every stitch of clothing he owned from his hard hat down to the soles of his work boots and found nothing. The suit, which he hadn't quite had the heart to destroy, had been gone over twice. But no listening bugs or tracking devices had turned up. His pickup truck had been the last thing to go over. But after all that, he found no sign of anything the Frenchman could have been using to spy on him.

Unsure whether he should be relieved or disappointed the Texan stood up, dusted off his coveralls and headed back to the base.

Crouching in the dark barracks, the BLU Spy peered at the door and scowled in thought. At first glance, the door looked normal, like all the other doors in the silent hallway. But this wasn't anyone else's door, this was the RED Spy's door. There could be any number of deterrents or alarms, just like the measures he kept for his own room. The RED Spy was bound to guard his privacy as closely as he did his own.

Peering intently at the door, careful not to touch it, he spotted a hair over the door jamb. This would be easy enough to replace and hide the fact he had even been here. But that could hardly be the only measure his fellow Spy would have taken for security.

Standing in the hallway, he turned the possibilities over in his head and tried to plan his next move. He could open the lock, but the man might have an alarm rigged. Or a trip wire. It was possible that the- His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of shambling footsteps echoing up the hall. Looking up, the Frenchman's eyes narrowed, recognizing the familiar sound of the mute arsonist approaching. He cloaked reflexively, making himself invisible to everyone, but… that _thing_ always seemed to see through it. The Spy glanced around the hall for an exit, but the barracks was a dead end, the only way out of the hall would be through the maniac.

His mouth went dry as he heard the footsteps get closer. Desperate, the Frenchman's gaze fell on the Engineer's door. The footsteps were now louder then ever and he could make out the shadow of the approaching figure. He bolted to the Texan's door and pulled a key out of his pocket. The copy had been made weeks ago, he'd just step in the room long enough for the creature to move on. The Engineer was a sound sleeper, he'd be none the wiser. He shoved the key into the key hole but it wouldn't turn. Mentally swearing and cursing, Spy struggled and tried to turn the key again. But it wouldn't turn in the door. Sweat began to bead underneath his mask.

The key had worked in the past - why not now? Had the Texan changed the locks? -WHY WOULD HE? -_Why now_? Crouched in the shadows he could now see the silhouette of the shambling figure up the hall. There was no time to focus on stupid, careless Texans_, the abomination was coming. _

The Pyromaniac shuffled up the hall, all squeaky boots and creaking asbestos, humming tunelessly to itself as it made its way to the room at the end. Digging around in a pouch on its belt it finally pulled out a key and stopped humming. It glanced up for a moment and gave the floor lamp a long hard look. There was another creak of rubber as the monster tilted its head and stared at the lamp, as if studying it.

An eternity passed until the Pyro shook it's head and turned back to the door and shambled inside. The door swung shut leaving the floor lamp alone in the hallway once again to breathe a sigh of relief and shakily make its retreat back to BLU base.

Engineer stifled a yawn slipping out of the mess hall at dinner with a piece of toast in one hand and the news paper in the other. The cross word had already been filled out incorrectly and forcibly by Demo, and the Sports page stolen by Scout days ago. Everyone on the team who cared to read it was finished with it. Probably. Most likely.

Finishing off the toast in a few bites, he went to the recreation room and picked up the old magazines that had been laying around for the last few months. Reading material, no matter its quality, was rarely thrown away on base. Those that didn't end up feeding the firebug's obsession washed up here in the dim room with its threadbare couch, radio and useless TV set. The magazines accumulated to be idly flipped through by various teammates during cease fire. It didn't matter if it was last January's issue of Haircuts for Men or an issue of Mildly Thrilling Tales from two years ago, if a man was bored enough he'd read anything. Or, at least attempt to.

The Texan slunk out of the rec room arms full of old magazines and began to make his way back to his room.

"ENGIE?" Soldier's voice called from up the hall. The man seemed to have only a hazy grasp of what an indoor voice was.

The Texan cringed, freezing in his tracks.

"Evenin', " he greeted sheepishly, turning to face his fellow countryman hoping the bundle of magazines and newspapers he was carrying would go unnoticed.

Soldier walked up the hall towards him. "How are you?"

"Enh… alright," he replied uneasily.

The other man frowned at him, he adjusted his ever present helmet and squinted at him. Engineer took a step back away from the larger man, feeling like a bug under a microscope. He was about to break the awkward silence and try to make his escape, when Soldier spoke.

"… Are…. you… on… point?" the words were slow, hesitant and quieter than the usual demanding tone.

"… What?" the Texan asked, taken aback by the Soldier's question. The man was usually lost in his own world of battles, perceived victories, and losses and rarely seemed to notice much else.

"Everything ship shape?"

"In order?" he translated, his tired mind slowly trying to process the strange turn this conversation was taking. "Yea… yea..." He hadn't slept much in the last three days, he probably owed the enemy spy bail money, his wife had replaced him and he had just received the papers making it official the day before. "Yea… 'm alright."

"Good." the lie seemed to pacify Soldier who nodded and repeated again sounding more like his usual self, "GOOD."

Engineer relaxed and was about to try to make his exit when the other man's gaze lowered to the pile of paper in his hands. "Are… ARE YOU STEALING FROM THE REC ROOM?" the man asked his voice full of shock and horror.

"No! No! I'm… uh… I'm" he sputtered as he tried to think of a suitable explanation. "I'm… using these for… uh… its… uh, a secret" he finally finished lamely.

Soldier frowned, "SECRET?" he then added suspiciously, "What sort of secret?"

Wrong choice of words, "uh… I mean a surprise" he amended.

"A surprise?"

" Yea… a surprise" maybe if he repeated it enough Soldier would be fooled.

"What sort of surprise?" the self styled miiltary man persisted.

"A… secret… sort of surprise?" Lying had never been his strong suit. But the truth was too ridiculous to explain.

"Like… a…" his fellow country man fumbled for ideas before one struck him "like a surprise party?"

"… Sure?" he cautiously replied.

"Who is it for?" the Soldier pressed, starting to sound like a child at Christmas.

"I-if I told you, it wouldn't be a secret," he stammered awkwardly, hoping this would stop the line of questions.

Soldier, more than satisfied with this logic, patted him on the shoulder and walked on down the hall. Relieved, Engineer hurried to the barracks to avoid any more questions. When he got to the door to his room he glanced around the hall. It was quiet, no one around - so far so good. The Texan unlocked his door, stepped inside and locked the door behind him.

He dropped the pile of papers on the floor next to his bed and sat himself down on the creaky mattress. Massaging the bridge of his nose he resisted the urge to lay back and doze off. The Texan leaned forward, took a magazine from the stack and tore off the cover. He crumpled it up loosely and tossed it on the floorboards, ripped the next page out and did the same. And the next page and the next. The papers formed a pool on the floor around his feet, as he worked the monotony of the task doing little to distract him from problems weighing heavily on his mind.

The divorce papers were sitting on his desk. Lurking. Awaiting a few signatures in the right places to erase ten years of his life. Not that the papers really mattered; Evie had already replaced him. Hardly one horse gone and getting the saddle out for another one, he thought sourly to himself.

Then he had got himself into a fight with a luckless drunk over _a song on the jukebox_. Wincing at the memory, he ripped out another page. Sometimes in the past he had let his temper get the best of him, but never over something so _stupid_. His face flushed with shame again as his thoughts went back to that night.

To make matters worse, the enemy Spy bailed him out. He still hadn't figured how the Frenchman had found him, or what the man wanted. These mysteries ate at him at him along with everything else. Keeping him on edge, restless. This problem was only compounded by the fact he was pretty sure the snake had tried to get into his room last night.

Well, honestly, truth be told, he had heard someone desperately try to unlock the door. But he really had no proof that it had been the enemy Spy. Though he could think of few other folks who would have reason to break into his room at odd hours of the night. But if it _was_ the snake, and he tried again… the Texan was going to make darn sure he wasn't caught flat footed.

He glanced down at the growing mass of papers on the floor with satisfaction. He had gone over several plans in his head; at first he had intended to electrocute the doorknob. But then he remembered the snoop always wore the leather gloves. Building some complicated alarm or trap would have attracted the attention of his own teammates who'd want to know what he was doing, which would be as good as _telling_ the Spy he was on to him.

When he was finished, the floor was carpeted with the paper and he could not move around the room without disturbing the paper, making loud crinkling noises. If anyone tried to get close the crumpling of the paper would alert him. Content with the evening's work the Texan started preparing himself for bed, hoping that with this problem solved he might sleep a bit more soundly.

The stupid farmhand had nearly gotten him caught. The stupid Texan and his new door lock. The Frenchman fumed as he made his way up the hall of the RED Barracks once more. What reason did the imbecile have to change the locks? The Engineer had no business doing that. It was… very inconvenient.

Clearly, the man must be trying to hide something. Whatever it was, Spy was determined to figure it out. It was late and all of the team, even the monster, had gone to bed if the monster even slept - now was the perfect time to find out what the Texan was trying to keep hidden.

The new lock gave him a bit more challenge than its predecessor, but once the lock was defeated he slowly, carefully opened the door.

There was the Texan's room, even messier than the last time he'd seen it. He noted the crumpled paper all over the floor in the dim light. It seemed the man's cleaning habits had slipped even further. He stepped in, invisible, and pulled out his flashlight to get a better look.

The Texan snored softly, unaware of his visitor. Spy nudged one of the papers with the toe of his shoe and pointed the light at it. The man had covered the floor with… newspapers? And magazines? Had he lost his mind? The paper was literally everywhere crumpled into balls, with not even a square inch of floor space visible.

This had to be deliberate.

But why?

He nudged another page with his shoe trying to figure out what the laborer was playing at. There had to be some logic, even twisted, to this. The paper was everywhere, if this was a normal mess there would be clear paths for walking. But the way the paper was, it was an obstacle one could scarcely avoid walking on.

Unless that was the plan. An idea started to form in the Spy's head. The man must have collected dozens of papers for this. Was this supposed to be an obstacle? To create noise if anyone came in? An obstacle for _him? _

The Frenchman smirked to himself. The Texan really shouldn't have gone to the trouble.

The next morning a groggy hand reached out of the blankets to slap at the alarm clock. Engineer groaned, dreams of home quickly fading from memory, reluctantly he sat up rubbing the sleep from his eyes. A quick glance around the room showed that everything seemed to be in place. His lamp, his wardrobe, his guitar, all right where he had left them and no more than there should be. Maybe his plan had worked, he thought to himself, cautiously daring to hope.

Placing his bare feet amid the sea of paper he got out of bed with a loud crinkle from the floor and stood with another loud crinkle. Ignoring the noise, he stretched and turned to make his bed. That was when he noticed the note taped to his head board, right above his pillow.

Frowning, Engineer ripped it off the bed and unfolded it. It was expensive paper, no identifying marks on it, but there was little doubt who had left it. He unfolded it, in very neat precise script were written just two words; "Nice Try."

The Texan's eyes narrowed, growling low, he crumpled the note into a ball. Now the snake was just toying with him.

The lock on RED Spy's door, to the other Spy's surprise had been even easier to pick than the Engineer's. Uncertain if he should believe his luck, the Frenchman glanced up and down the abandoned corridor as the door quietly swung open. Inviting him in.

A trip wire just outside the path of the door glinted in the beam of his flashlight. It was probably tied to some sort of alarm. Simple to spot, simple to avoid. The Frenchman scowled, too simple. Any idiot could install a trip wire. The RED Spy was hardly an idiot.

There had to be more here. The simple lock and the trip wire could be a ruse. Have the intruder think that was the only obstacle in their way. Make them careless and catch them with a more complex trap. There _had_ to be more than this.

Standing in the open doorway, not daring to step inside, the Frenchman reached into his pocket and pulled out a remote the size of a box of cigarettes. He had ordered this from SpyCo ages ago, but rarely had a chance to use it. With a flick of the switch a green light blinked on the device, then it shut off and a red one replaced it as it detected a motion sensor in the room. That was more like he expected of a fellow Spy. This would be difficult but hardly impossible to deal with.

Taking a calculated risk, he took one step in the room and very, _very_ slowly shut the door behind him. The Frenchman relaxed as it shut without even an audible click and there was no sign to indicate the alarm had been triggered. He stood stock still behind the trip wire, as he moved his flash light beam slowly across the room. He had dealt with these sorts of alarms before, as long as he moved in slight, slow motions the sensor wouldn't notice him at all. Which was useful for crossing a room, but it would greatly impede his search. He glanced around the room, there had to be an off switch, or device to deactivate the alarm.

The furniture was nicer than whatever RED had originally supplied, the bed bigger, the clunky desk was replaced with something sleeker with a book shelf. For all the improvements the man had made to the room, there were no pictures on the wall, few trinkets or decoration. Like the BLU Spy's own room, any personal details were out of sight, away from any prying eyes. At least this narrowed down the possibilities of where the alarm control could be hidden. He returned his gaze to the writing desk and its book shelf, that seemed the most likely place to start looking. Gradually, he raised his foot to step over the trip wire and just as gradually he set his foot down on the other side of the wire. So far, so good.

Taking deliberate care the Frenchman crept along at a snail's pace across the room. This was strangely reminiscent of how he had to creep through the Engineer's room and his silly newspapers. He wondered what the man had thought of his note. This was no time to get distracted, he reminded himself, he could not afford to let his presence be known. With resumed focus he continued inching across the room to the writing desk.

At long last, untold minutes later he was standing in front of the desk. He squinted at the titles as he moved his flash light along the shelf. They were a varied collection, a manual for the man's overblown sports cars, _The Memoirs of Etienne Rambert_,_ How to Disarm a Bomb_, a couple of foreign language dictionaries. The Spy frowned, most of the volumes were the right size to be a control box. It could be any of them. His gaze fell on an unassuming volume on the end named _Silent Warning_. That had to be it. Self assured he grabbed the book off the shelf, forgoing all the caution he had been exercising up till now.

He opened it to reveal... pages. With ordinary words on them. He gaped at it in horror for a moment. He had probably thirty seconds before the alarm was triggered and the RED Spy would know someone had been in here. Panicked, he dropped the offending book on the floor and began snatching random volumes on the shelf, opening them and casting them aside. The control had to be here. _Somewhere_.

Finally, he grabbed the Memoirs off the shelf - and to his relief it opened it to reveal a switch. Flipping it off, he allowed himself to relax. Now able to move freely, he bent down and began to pick up the books, trying to remember what order they had been on the shelf. Only once the books were returned to their original places he was able to focus on the task he has arrived here for.

His search through the desk revealed nothing he wanted. In the bottom drawer he uncovered files on members from both teams. That was hardly surprising, he had his own copies. There were a couple of trick pens, one was probably an explosive, the other a microfiche camera. He had some of those himself. There were even some regular writing utensils. A couple of catalogs, a manual for the cloaking watch, and that was it. No false bottoms in the drawers, nothing.

There was no sign of the letters, or any communications. The Soldier was simple enough he probably, true to his word had given them to the Spy. So the man had evidently read them and… what? Destroyed them? Hid them? Or he was carrying them right now, which would make reading them difficult. Best to exhaust other venues before coming to that conclusion.

Stepping back from the desk, the BLU Spy thought over his own hiding places. Turning his attention to the wardrobe he opened it, revealing an array of suits and tuxedos, the top shelf full of hats and a few articles for disguises. Sliding the clothes back he tapped the back of the wardrobe with his knuckles and listened closely. Hearing a hollow thump he ran his hand along the back of the wardrobe until he found a very small catch. If one hadn't been looking for it it might have been mistaken for a knot in the wood. Pressing the ball of his thumb down on the catch, the panel slid down to reveal a small compartment. Inside were several passports and various forms of identification, but no sign of the letters or anything out of the ordinary. He frowned, putting everything back in place and hitting the button, so the panel closed again. He shut the doors to the wardrobe and walked to the bed.

The bed was large and fashionable. There were no bed posts, and hardly a headboard to speak of. He lifted the mattress and ran his flash light underneath it, to reveal nothing. With little else to work with he knelt on the floor and ran his hands along the rails of the bed. His fingers quickly found a knot in the wood similar to the one in the wardrobe. Pressing on it, the rail of the bed slid out like a large drawer. A smile spread across the Frenchman's face as he poured over the drawer's contents. There was currency from various countries, a spare disguise kit and watch, a rather impressive arsenal of guns and knives including, something that actually took the Spy by surprise.

An old Apache pistol. Reverently, he picked the weapon up. To an uneducated person it would look like a jumbled mess, but the Spy expertly unfolded the brass knuckles handle from the gun and delicately ran a gloved finger along the folding blade. It was in marvelous condition for its age, the weapon deserved better than to be hidden away in the RED Spy's room. He was about to slip it into his own pocket before he reminded himself his purpose. He had come in here to investigate the RED Spy and to leave no trace. Reluctantly, he folded the weapon back up and put it back.

With an agitated sigh he shut the drawer, having still not found anything that would tell him what the man was up to. Maybe the RED Spy _wasn't_ up to anything. He rose from the floor, debating about prying up floorboards when he spotted out of the corner of his eye a notepad on the night stand. The top page was blank, but when he squinted at it in the beam of his flashlight, he could see an imprint of the previous page on it. Taking a pencil from his jacket pocket he lightly scribbled over the surface he smirked to himself as he words appeared on the page to make out an address in New York City, a time and the date "New Years Eve." He ripped the page off the pad and put it in his pocket with the pencil. It wasn't much to go on, he admitted to himself returning the notepad to the night stand. But at least it was something.

The sound of hammering broke the silence of the late hour as the Engineer fumed in his work shop. The Spy seemed determined to stick his damn beak into everything and laugh at him the whole way. He couldn't even sleep in peace in his own bed anymore. After he angrily cleaned up the paper mess off his bedroom floor he had debated about setting up a cot and sleeping down in the workshop. Though the Frenchman would probably just follow him down there and…. Do _what_? That was a troubling question he had yet to find an answer to.

What was the bastard doing anyway? Watching him sleep? _Why?_ Or worse… if the man wasn't watching him sleep, what _was_ he doing? Measuring him for more clothes? The Texan shuddered, forcing himself not to think about it and instead focus on the project at hand. Things he understood, solder and metal, things he could handle. Things he could fix. Unlike other parts of his life.

He needed to stop thinking about that too, he reminded himself, hammering out another dent in the scrap metal before cutting it down to size. Keep busy. Stay focused. Sometimes he managed to forget Evie, then something would remind him. Or he would pat himself on the back for not thinking about her; then his thoughts would be about nothing but her.

The Texan shook his head; he needed to focus on the problem at hand. The problem he could address. He glanced over at his soldering iron to see if it had reached temperature. If the snake was determined to poke and pry into everything, leaving him no shred of privacy, he might as well give the sidewinder something to pry into. Once the iron had reached the proper temperature he began to join the cut pieces of metal, forming a simple box. He had debated about leaving a sentry up in the workshop to guard the place,but the Spy already knew how to handle those. And even if it worked and got the bastard; there might be questions about any mess left behind. Traps: most of those were a nuisance at best and a double edged sword at worst. Just as likely to backfire on him as any inquisitive Frenchman. Engineer placed the iron back on its stand and examined his handiwork. This, while not fatal, or painful, would be more entertaining.

Satisfied with the soldering job, the Texan set the box aside and got up from his stool to find the paint. A few finishing touches, an air compressor, and springs and he'd be done. Well, almost done, there was still the matter of the most important part….

The locks to the Engineer's workshop hadn't been changed, the Spy noted as he let himself into the dim basement room. He pulled his flashlight out of his jacket pocket and ran the light along the floor. The same locks and no ridiculous obstacles made of trash; this seemed a strange oversight considering the man's recent actions.

Not that the workshop needed any more obstacles, the Texan's lack of cleaning skills provided enough as it was, the Frenchman frowned as he stepped over a box of scrap metal. He would have been ready to assume the man had just let everything pile up while he sulked, but there was some evidence to the contrary.

The contents of the work table had been moved around, and there was a bit more of the table top clear since the last time he had visited. And there was a box. It was black and gleaming and more than stood out among the dust and the clutter of the space. It had not been here last time. He came closer to get a better look at it, but did not let his hands touch it's smooth surface. It resembled a strong box, except strong boxes were rarely square. Whatever might be inside of it was a mystery. The lock on it looked simple enough to open.

This was a trap. That was the only explanation why the Engineer would leave it out in the open. All shiny and new. And locked. He _wanted_ him to open it. The farmhand was a fool thinking that he would be stupid enough to fall for something so obvious.

Turning from the worktable and the ridiculous box the Frenchman glanced around the room looking for any more changes. The man had left the locks the same and added an obvious trap, what else could he have done?

Spy dragged the beam of his flashlight along the room over the out of date calendar, the cobwebs, the old blueprints and older bookcase when a glint on the shelf caught his eye. Stepping over more crates allowed him to examine it closer. In the darkest corner of the room, on the top of a high shelf was something almost hidden by a box. The Texan must have needed a ladder to reach it- the Spy noted with a soft chuckle, stretching to move the box aside to uncover… a camera. It was one of the security cameras common to the base. This certainly had not been here the last time he had come in, the Engineer must have added this recently. Not that it was going to do him any good. With a snort he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a sapper and soon the camera was a useless sparking mess.

Satisfied with a job well done he turned from the bookcase and glanced around the room one last time. There seemed to be little more to do here. Glancing back he gave the box a derisive snort. Activating his cloak the Spy left the workshop, and began to make his way up the basement steps.

Pie crust should be simple, the Texan told himself, just flour and water. And maybe some other things… he really wasn't sure. Though looking at the contents of the mixing bowl he might have forgotten a few ingredients. Eggs maybe. He poked the glop warily with a spoon. Was this how dough was supposed to look? Like gravy? Frowning, he poured more flour into the bowl , thumping the bag down on the counter causing some to erupt from the top before settling gently down on every available surface. "Dangit" the Texan muttered to himself as he watched the flour dance in the air. He'd clean that up later, he told himself and stirred furiously at the mixture. It's not like this needed to taste good. It just need to look right. Well… somewhat right. It was the principle of the thing.

Why RED bothered to stock the kitchen was a mystery. But they had provided a full set of pots, pans and various odds and ends of crockery and cooking paraphernalia that were strange and mysterious to most of the mercenaries. Occasionally, someone might cook some eggs, or burgers, but no one really knew how to do much else. Or if they did, they were being very quiet about it. Most of the flour, sugar and other odds and ends were rarely used. The majority of the team's meals came out of tin cans and were merely heated and served without any actual flavor being added. If one wanted real food they went out or went home. For those who had a home to go to.

Evie always made this look so easy, he thought with a frown giving the concoction in the bowl another examination. Now it looked less like gravy and more like mortar. Maybe that was an improvement? Well it might be, the crust was like the foundation of the thing, wasn't it? Foundations needed to be sturdy. Still dubious, he poured - attempted to pour- the mixture into an ancient pie pan. Finally after much scraping he got the alleged crust to sit in the pan, in a big gelatinous lump. This could work, Engineer told himself, he just needed to shape it, add the bananas, and bake it. This wasn't so bad, he assured himself weakly. He could do it.

In the midst of hacking at the lump in the pie pan, he made the horrid discovery that the mixture was quickly drying out and setting up like cement. It chipped and cracked as he tried to dig out the center struggling to make it resemble a pie more than a mountain. Was a crust supposed to be flaky _before_ you baked it? Somehow he didn't think so. Maybe some water would help. Desperate to fix this quickly, he stretched to reach above his head to pull a measuring cup from the cupboard above his head. He fumbled and the measuring cup slipped from his fingers onto the floor where it shattered into pieces with a crash.

Maybe he didn't need the water after all…. Cringing, he stepped over the glass shards; he'd sweep that up later. Once he got this thing in the oven. Right now, he was sure if he stopped, he'd lose his nerve entirely and see just how ridiculous this was. He went back to stoically chipping the crust out of the pan, the filling wasn't even in and already it was too big.

The Texan was too preoccupied with swearing under his breath to hear Pyro enter the room. It wasn't until he glanced up from the pie pan to reach for the meat tenderizer that he spotted Pyro quietly watching him. From about two inches away. Startled, Engineer jumped back from the kitchen counter, nearly dropping the overburdened pie pan on the kitchen floor. Pyro tilted his head curiously eyeing the mess in the pan.

"Hud hih hah?" the firebug asked. At least Engineer assumed, he was usually pretty good at interpreting him.

"Uh… a pie?" he answered sheepishly.

The responding laughter required little translation.

"It ain't done yet!" he snapped defensively, but the muffled laughter just got louder. "Ya think ya could do better?" he retorted as the pyromaniac's laughter subsided. There were a few raspy sounds from inside the suit as Pyro caught his breath and then nodded eagerly.

Engineer gave the masked asbestos suit wearing figure a skeptical look. He tried to picture Pyro cooking… well cooking something that didn't end up destroying the building.

"Huh hah hudda" Pyro insisted, putting his hands on his hips.

"Son… I remember that time with the bacon," he pointed out, "an' the burgers last July." he added as some memories he had previously blocked bubbled up. It had taken months for the mess hall to stop smelling like smoke and grease. The stove was never the same after that.

"Hudda" Pyro persisted.

Reluctantly, the Texan glanced at the pan and its rather lack luster contents. So long as he kept the fire extinguisher handy… Pyro could hardly do worse than him.

"I…" he bit his lip, hesitating, "If ya wanna give it a shot… I …suppose…"

The pie pan was off the counter before he even finished his sentence. After some grumbles and mumbled words that might have been swears the offending attempt was scraped out of the pie pan thunked into the garbage. The Texan stood there woodenly, watching as the firebug pulled a bowl out of the cupboard, set it on the counter, shuffled to the fridge and began pulling out ingredients.

Gently pushing the Engineer aside, Pyro stepped passed him and onto the broken glass with a crunch. Making a puzzled sound he looked down at the floor and back at the embarrassed Texan.

"I'll sweep that up" he offered quickly. The firebug said nothing and with a shrug began mixing ingredients in the bowl. Some flour, some butter, a pinch of salt, the Texan wasn't sure what all was being used or how it was being measured but he watched in amazement as the ingredients were mixed together and looked more like dough than anything he had come up with.

"W-where'd you learn ta do that?" he asked as Pyro took the dough out of the bowl and began to beat it flat on the counter with his hand.

"Hudaheh." the reply came with a shrug.

"Oh."

The crust, apparently done to satisfaction, was deftly pulled off the counter, dropped into the pan and patted into place.

"You know, my wife makes great pies," he commented filling the silence while Pyro carefully crimped and arranged the crust. "Best buttermilk pie in the whole county. Won a ribbon and everything." His brow furrowed, he wasn't going to taste Evie's buttermilk pie again. Or any of her cooking. The silence filled the room again. He needed air. "I-I'm gonna go get that broom now…" he murmured walking out of the kitchen.

Slumping against the wall for a minute, he took a deep breath and did his best to think about anything else but Her. Massaging the bridge of his nose the Texan took another breath and straightened. He couldn't let himself get bogged down like this, he didn't have time for that, he really shouldn't leave Pyro alone for too long. He paced down the quiet hall to the utility closet. Getting the dustpan and broom out of the closet he froze for a moment. He thought he could smell a whiff of… cigarettes? Engineer glanced around the hall, but there was no sign of anyone, no misplaced shadows or objects. No floor lamps. Just a pathetic Texan alone with his memories.

"Jumpin' at shadows," he muttered to himself and walked back to the kitchen. Hopefully the firebug hadn't lit something on fire yet.

Engineer opened the kitchen door and was greeted by…nothing on fire. Pyro was pulling the golden brown pie crust out of the oven, inspecting it before and setting it on the counter. Looking up the gas masked figure waved a greeting to Engineer who just gaped.

"E-verything goin' alright?" he asked, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. There were a hundred questions he wanted to ask, but like most things about Pyro, he was probably happier not knowing. Even if he got an answer it would probably make no sense.

Pyro ignored him and began cutting bananas up , throwing them along with countless other ingredients into a clean bowl.

"Haddada heah hoah?" Pyro queried, stirring the mixture together.

"What? yea… yea… that's what I ordered 'em for." Bananas were not usually part of their ration delivery, but he managed to get them added to the grocery list this week. He figured banana cream pie would be easier to figure out than coconut.

The Texan swept the broken glass and flour off the floor as the Pyro poured the mixture into the pie crust. To his bafflement the pie didn't end up in the oven again; it was being put in the fridge. He opened his mouth to ask, but so far Pyro seemed to know what he was doing.

"Hee hih hih heah ho hahouh ho heh"

"An hour, eh?" well, he supposed that explained that. "How are we supposed to keep anyone from eating it between now and then?"

"Hm?" Pyro tilted his head to the side in thought, before turning to dig through the kitchen drawers. Pulling out a marker and a bit of wax paper the pyromaniac scribbled just one word on the paper. His name. Confident, the firebug opened the fridge and put the sign next to the pie.

"That… that'll do it." the Texan nodded. Most labels in the fridge were ignored and all food was considered fair game, unless it was Medic's. But there were probably few folks who would dare to touch anything of the firebug's.

"Huh hih huou hah hih hoh?" Pyro asked.

"Oh? I was just cravin' a pie"

The work room was slightly cleaner when the Spy dropped in. There was no sign of the camera, so it seemed the Engineer had learned his lesson in that regard. But the box was still there. The Engineer had moved it out of the debris and onto a clear patch on the work table where it glinted in the dim beam of his flash light.

Some lessons the idiot didn't learn easily. Did the man still think he was going to fall for this silly toy? He snorted as he leaned over it; the box hadn't changed, it was still metal, black, gleaming, and… _cold_? He frowned in confusion. Gingerly hovering his hand in closer. Yes it was. The box was radiating a chill that he could feel even through his gloves.

His frown became an outright scowl. _Why was it cold?_ The Frenchman racked his brain but couldn't figure it out. Was it generating cold? How was it doing that? What purpose would that serve? _What was the Texan up to?_

But he obviously wasn't going to open the box- this was an insult to his intelligence. It was a trap, that the Texan wanted him to open. But he wasn't going to.

He turned his back on the work table and after a quick glance around, walked out of the room, snapping the door shut and locking it behind him.

The Texan whistled idly to himself as he unloaded his rifle, placing the rounds one by one into his ammunition pouch. He frowned glancing up through the barrel he frowned- he really shouldn't have let it get to this state. He'd been raised to take better care of his guns than this.

Picking the wire brush off the table, he worked it down in the barrel, scouring the grime and dirt out of it. It was a wonder the gun hadn't backfired on him in this condition.

The night was quiet, and he was alone in his room for the night. The fighting for the day had been marginally better than it had been. The Spy was still a pain in the neck on and off and battlefield. But he was patient. He could wait.

Setting the brush aside, Engineer picked up a rag and the bottle of gun oil. Wiping down the gun with the rag, he cleaned away the accumulated blood and gore of the battlefield. When he was satisfied, he set the rag and the shot gun down. That really was an improvement.

The box was still there when he entered the room. _Existing_. The rest of the workshop hadn't changed much. The crates of scrap metal were still obscuring most of the floor, he fumed as he stepped over and around them to make it across the room kicking another out of his way. There was nothing in the room of note.

Except that damned box.

Spy had tried not the think about it. But the questions kept bothering him. What was in the box? Why was it cold? How was it cold? _What could possibly be in there? _

He glared down at the box, its lock gleaming in the dim light, _taunting him_. It would be easy enough to open. A simple tumbler lock, wouldn't take a minute. Lightly he placed a hand on the lid feeling the cold seep through his glove. Gently, he lifted the box and looked at it on all sides, just a lock and some hinges. There was a slight weight to it, but no rattle or feel of anything loose as he slowly tilted the box in his hands. He scowled, what was in it?

Maybe he could open it, glance inside quickly and not set off… whatever trap the Engineer had built. There was probably a catch in the lid that controlled the presumed mechanism- those could be worked around.

He set the box back down on the worktable. He gave it a long hard look. There was no way of knowing what was in the damnable thing. Not without opening it.

He pulled the lock picks out of his pocket. With delicate care he selected his tools and began to work. The lock took even less time than he had thought, it was barely an obstacle. Which was because the Texan _wanted_ this lock opened. The Frenchman lifted the lid barely a centimeter and shined the flashlight into the pitch black of the box but was unable to find see any catch.

He cautiously opened the lid another few centimeters but still couldn't make out anything of the boxes contents… He _had _to know. Finally he relented and snapped the lid up all the way.

There was a click as some spring was released and something flew towards the Frenchman's face. Something white and soft and round? Before he could identify it everything went dark. And he tasted and smelled… bananas?

Somehow, when he had gone over the possibilities of what was in the box a banana cream pie had never occurred to him.

The pie pan slid off his face and fell to the floor with a soft splat of cream. The Texan, he conceded, while spitting banana mush on the floor could sometimes be clever. Despite an apparently juvenile sense of humor. Grimacing the Spy pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his eyes and mouth though it did little to clear the fruity smell from his nostrils. The mask, he realized as he feebly dabbed at it, was going to need a real cleaning, along with the suit.

Where did the man even get his hands on a pie?

The workshop resounded with the sound of laughter as the Texan watched the camera footage projected on the cleanest wall in the room. It had been a gamble setting up the decoy camera, he hadn't expected the Snoop to actually miss that trick. But somehow it had worked and the real camera, hidden in a crate, remained unmolested.

He chuckled again, taking another sip of beer and watched the pie smack into the Spy's face. Even with the hazy focus of the footage it was a beautiful sight to see the pie tin slide down off the Frenchman's nose and banana cream dripping onto that fancy damn suit.

Smirking he reached forward and rewound the video cartridge to the point when the pie first splatted the smug bastard in the face. The man's mouth had been open and everything , and he got a good mouthful of the bananas. Draining the last of the bottle, he grinned widely as he watched the footage of the snake desperately trying to wipe the cream off his suit with all the wounded air of a cat caught in the rain. Killing the man wouldn't have been this satisfying, or entertaining.

He should probably get to bed, try to get some rest. There was going to be more work and fighting tomorrow….

He leaned forward and hit the rewind again. Just one more time.


	10. Chapter Eight

**Author's Note - Sorry for the delay in this. There was a funeral, a cross country road trip, and I'm in the middle of working convention season. I'll spare details but I haven't had much time to sit down and write anything.**

**As a side note - the editor feels I need to add this for added entertainment value: In my head canon, Heavy and Medic seem to have a bet on whether or not Engineer might be bisexual. Heavy probably doesn't really care all that much, but Medic's a nosy bastard who's tired of being part of the only gay couple on the team. Not saying he wants to go out on double dates or anything, but in any case, Engineer has pinged on his gaydar and he's determined to be proven right. **

**Also Soldier seems to be crushing on the Engineer, though was apparently never given "the talk", so his feelings are probably very confusing for him. There are not enough hand puppets in the world I think for anyone to explain it to him. Sadly, it will forever remain one-sided. Sorry, Soldier, but Senpai will never notice you.**

It had been over a month before RED finally lifted the ban that had been keeping the mercenaries on base. The desert air was almost a bearable temperature in the early evening. The sun was setting and the shadows were growing longer. Eager to be free most of the men disappeared for the weekend, leaving the base deserted and quiet. Quiet except for the odd banging that echoed around the base's courtyard.

Scout slunk out of the barracks, his hands jammed in his pockets as he walked to the courtyard to investigate. In the middle of the courtyard was a large open shipping crate spilling packing sawdust on the ground. Looking up from the crate, he squinted to make out two silhouettes on the roof against the dimming sky, the Texan and Pyro. They were wrestling with... an overgrown radio antennae? The pair were so focused on their work they didn't notice they were being observed. Currently, the Texan was holding the antennae while the Pyro fumbled with something against the gables of the second story. "No, no,_ that_ goes there." the Texan's voice echoed across the courtyard, "hold this," he said, hastily taking the wrench from the other figure and switching places. A wind started to pick up and the antennae swayed drunkenly, "_Steady_, can't have this stuck up here crooked now."

The masked accomplice asked something that couldn't be heard from the Scout's position. The Texan sighed, his voice carrying farther than the mumbles of the other teammate, "No, we can't just 'hit it with a wrench.'"

Finally unable to keep quiet, the Scout called up, "What are you knuckleheads doin' up _there_?" Pyro called out a muffled greeting and eagerly waved down at him, then quickly replaced it's grip on the swaying antennae.

Engineer glanced over his shoulder to the ground and called down to Scout, "Replacing this wireless antennae. Thought you left base with everyone else."

The radio was the main source of outside entertainment for the base. Outside of killing each other. While the base did have a television - the management had installed it a good half year ago - it was useless. They were so far out of range of any broadcast that no matter how much tin foil they had attached to the apparatus, the best the box could manage was a ghost of a signal that might resemble an image. So until someone got a broadcasting tower a bit closer to Tuefort, if anyone wanted any sort of entertainment or news the only option was the radio.

"What was wrong with the old antennae?" the Scout asked, ignoring the Texan's comment.

"Not much, besides being used for target practice." the older man called down irritably.

"It wasn't that bad," the Scout said defensively, almost guiltily.

"We could hardly pick up a signal from twenty miles away, much less anything else. The range on it was terrible, even before you and Soldier got to it."

"That wasn't me!"

The Texan ignored the young man's indignant claims of innocence and straightened from his task. He grinned and patted Pyro on the shoulder, giving him a thumbs up and saying something cheerful that couldn't be heard from the ground. Pyro gingerly relinquished its grip on the antennae which remained firmly in one place. Punching the air in victory, the figure disappeared from view and Scout faintly heard the hum of the teleporter. The Pyro then appeared from around the corner and the Texan soon followed.

"I'll check the radio and see if it's angled right. Though everything should be good." Engineer said to the arsonist, "You can go on and git, I'll clean this up later"

The gas mask nodded, clearly pleased with itself. Shambling towards the barracks it mumbled something amiable to Scout and disappeared inside.

" …Yea," Scout replied uneasily to Pyro's back, "…you too."

"Honestly, I don' care which one of ya'll broke it." the Texan commented as he walked to the barracks himself. "As long as whoever wrecked the last antennae leaves this'un alone. Waited for months for it to be shipped. Thought it wouldn't be delivered in time."

With little else of interest going on, the young man followed, "In time? In time for what?"

"Thanksgiving?" the Texan prompted incredulously as made their way inside. Pyro had already disappeared to do... whatever it was that the arsonist did when off the clock.

"Yea... what about Thanksgiving?"

"The _Game_!" one could hear the capitalization in the man's voice. The importance. The enthusiasm bordering on reverence.

"What game?" Scout gave the man a baffled look, "The World Series is over."

"I ain't talkin' about _baseball._" Engineer snorted disdainfully as they walked down the hall towards the recroom. "I'm talking about football!" he persisted, "The Thanksgiving Game!"

"And I still. Have no _freakin' clue_. What you're talking about. You did all that," Scout asked, "just to hear a football game?"

The Texan stared at the young man as if he had just said something blasphemous, "Just a football game? Son, I thought they was civilized back east… I'm talking about the Aggie - Longhorn game."

"The what-the-hell game? "

"A&M and TU?" the Engineer asked. The only response Scout gave him was a blank look. The more the Texan spoke the less sense he made. "They're schools in Texas." he explained awkwardly with the confused air of someone who had to explain how wheels worked. "They fight it out every Thanksgivin'"

"Why?"

"'Cause- cause its tradition!"

Enlightenment was starting to slowly dawn on the young man's face. Football wasn't something he knew or cared much about but he knew team rivalries quite well and the Texan's babblings had all the earmarks of one.

The phone rang - interrupting the Texan's excited explanation.

"I'll get it!" Scout exclaimed, swaggering to the phone before the Texan could reach it. "Heya," he said into the receiver.

There was an awkward cough on the other end of the line and then a man with a thick Texas drawl spoke "Excuse me, is this the er…" his voice faltered as it sounded like he was reading off the name, "the… Reliable… Excavation Demolition office?"

"Yea this is RED base, what's it to ya?"

"I… uh… need" the man cleared his throat, "to talk to someone…-" there was another cough. At this rate he was going to die of old age before the man spat out what he wanted.

"You want Hardhat," Scout guessed cutting him off before he could waste any more time with his drawn out drawl and long pauses. Covering the receiver with his hand he leaned out and yelled down the hall, "Hey! Old McDonald! Phone for ya!"

The Engineer came up beside Scout and took the phone from him. "Howdy," the Texan answered the phone, there was a pause and then a wary reply "Speakin'…Who's this?" The Scout lingered just in ear shot, Engineer was too distracted to notice.

"John? John McAlister? How are ya?" There was a long pause, the man on the other end was probably clearing his throat between every word. "Why ya callin'?" After an even longer pause, the Texan's easy going smile faded, "Pardon, ah musta-".

"Y-you think I should -" the Texan stiffened, his mouth pressing into a thin line , "Ya think I _need_ tah-" There was another pause, "W-what business is it of _yours_?"

"D-did _Evie_ p-" Engineer's eyes narrowed as the unknown speaker apparently cut in. "Oh, for _her _sake? Well ain't yah just th' good Samaritan!" he spat into the phone "-stickin' yer nose where it don't belong. What gives yah the right? Callin' a man up and tellin' him what tah do! Sniffin' after someone else's wife!"

"It ain't your business what ah do- or when ah do it!" Yanking the receiver from his ear, the Texan slammed it down onto the hook. It missed the cradle sliding down the front of the phone. There was a quiet moment before the Texan exploded, beating the receiver in his hand against the phone. Deciding it was best to leave now before he was noticed Scout slipped down the hall and around a corner.

Scout listened on as again and again the Engineer beat out a frustrated staccato until the receiver fractured with an audible snap. He dropped the broken receiver letting it clatter. "Damnit," he spat.

Curiosity forced the Scout to cloak and peer around the corner in time to hear the Texan swear again and slam his fist into the phone, shattering it into pieces.

Damnit…" the man slumped against the wall. The Engineer looked down at his now bloodied hand and hissed. "Shit." the profanity echoed down the now empty hallway.

Still cloaked, the Spy made his way up the hall to make his exit, thankful that the Engineer had been too absorbed to realize he'd had an audience or that said audience had faded into thin air.

_Stupid cow_. The Spy fumed as he crept through the base and slipped through a side door. All he wanted was to investigate other things on base but once again found himself waylaid by the ridiculous cowboy. Stupid cowboy and his stupid cow wife. Thanks to her and her paramour the farmhand was going to be useless. Again. Even now the Texan was probably locking himself back in his room to cry over his guitar, wallowing in self pity and cheap beer.

After all the trouble he'd gone through, the Spy fumed. All that hard work just undone by one phone call. He wasn't going to stand for it he decided, picking his way across No Man's Land back to BLU base. A plan was slowly forming in his head, it would take some work but he wasn't going to let some stupid woman and her inbred queutard win.

"Herr Engineer - how did you come to blows with our telephone?" Medic asked conversationally as he dug around in the Texan's hand with a pair of tweezers.

The phone, ancient and long suffering in the desert heat, had shattered easily enough. But not without leaving bits of wire and shards of plastic in the Texan's fist as reminders. While a dispenser could heal any cut or wound in seconds - there was the danger of any shrapnel or debris healing into the wound as well. During a skirmish with respawn running it was hardly a problem. But it was a weekend and it seemed overdramatic to shoot himself over a busted hand. So with hung head and grit teeth Engineer went looking for medical help.

Medic looked up at him from his work, patiently waiting for an answer. An explanation. The Texan faltered, he didn't feel like talking about it. Especially not to this man. There didn't seem to be a way to word what had happened without making himself sound like a damn fool. Well… more of a damn fool.

The doctor's expectant silence stretched with the Texan nervously drumming the fingers of his uninjured hand on the edge of the table. Avoiding the question. Suddenly the tweezers twisted, hitting nerves and he bit back a swear.

"Sorry," the German purred with an unpleasantly pleasant smile, "hand slipped - now what were you saying about the phone?" he prompted helpfully.

"… I wasn't." came the cautious reply. While no one could doubt the doctor's experience or his... enthusiasm, Medic's bedside manner left a lot to be desired. It was a widely accepted, yet rarely voiced fact among the team members that the older man had a taste for inflicting pain. No one was sure what he could or would do to any of the team who got on his bad side. No one really wanted to think about it.

The sharp pain in his hand that jolted all the way up to his elbow was the immediate answer to that question.

"Dad-Gummit!"

"Oops!" Medic chuckled "Silly me! I'm all thumbs today."

It seemed he wasn't going to get out of here unless he talked. Or lost his hand. Why couldn't anyone mind their own damn business and leave him alone?

Maybe losing a hand wouldn't be so bad. BLU's Engineer had designed himself a decent prosthetic he mused, trying to distract himself from the pain. Surely it wouldn't be too hard to build something similar. Or better.

Mental blueprints were disrupted by a quiet plink as a shard of plastic was dropped into a bowl by the doctor's elbow.

"I didn't hear you - why did you destroy our telephone?" the German asked again, voice soft, casually holding the Texan's hand down on the table as he moved his tweezers in closer to work.

He realized he would probably need to use both his hands to build a decent prosthetic. Provided Medic let him go. He didn't think that the man would _seriously _hurt him for not talking. But it occurred to him that Medic might have a different definition of "seriously injured" than he did.

Engineer bit down on his lip as the tweezers dug around among the tendons and bone of his hand. Awkward, but only slightly painful. For a moment his eyes met Medic's. Probably soon to be more than slightly painful unless he missed his guess. His guess was quickly forgotten as sudden pain shot up his hand to his shoulder.

"God dammit!" Thankfully, no ladies were present to hear the additional cursing. Reflexively he tried to jerk his hand back, but the older man's grip was stronger than he expected.

"_Nien!_ I'm not finished." Medic insisted, keeping his firm grasp on Engineer's hand. He was about to try to get up to leave when he saw Medic's face. The gleam in the man's eyes told him that if he tried to get up and leave now the man would easily fix it so he couldn't. Swallowing his protest, he nervously sank back in his chair. He didn't ask when Medic would be done, no sense wasting his breath.

The tweezers went digging again and the Texan gripped the side of the chair with his good hand as another spasm of pain traveled up his arm. There was no feigned apology this time, only silence and… a smile. Glancing away from the alleged doctor his gaze wandered around the room, trying to find a distraction. His eyes traveled uneasily over the clean bare desk, the Medigun propped up in the corner, the locked medicine cabinet, the mysterious medical devices on the shelf. Devices for uses he didn't want to think about. Finally, his gaze rested uneasily on the skeleton and its permanent grin hanging in the corner. There were many rumors passed around about that skeleton; who it was and where it came from. That it had been a victim of the doctor's tinkering, or a patient that made him mad. Whoever the poor bastard was he currently hung in the corner of the room serving as a grim warning.

The skeleton smiled on as Engineer felt another shot of pain race up his arm and spread.

"Shit!" He groaned as the pain lingered.

Medic dropped another shard in the bowl. "Not done yet."

"Damn… sadist." he spat looking back at Medic. He could possibly fight his way out of here. He could also possibly end up drugged on the floor. Being unconscious wasn't something he wanted to do again anytime soon.

"Don't be such a baby" the German tsked, shaking his head "You are the vun who-"

"-Yeah yeah!" he snapped, cutting the doctor off, "Ah punched the phone! No need tah remind me."

"And why did you?" Medic prompted quietly his tweezers poised and ready to go to work again.

"I got a phone call from- from home." The words tumbled out before he could let himself swallow them. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have, not a person he wanted to have it with. But apparently it was talk or suffer. "Not from home." he corrected himself. "From her new- new -" he rubbed the bridge of his nose as he found himself struggling for words. There was some pain as the doctor went back to work, but nothing compared to the last jolt.

"My replacement!" he blurted with a wince.

Medic's eyebrows shot up but offered no comment as he dropped another scrap into the bowl.

"Damn bastard, I went to school with him!" Engineer found himself rambling. "Callin' me- callin' me tellin' me to sign th' papers. So he can help himself." he spat bitterly. He had been ignoring the papers, letting them lurk on his desk while he focused on other things, other problems while Evie found someone else to take his place. He let himself be distracted. Let himself forget them. "Damn fool."

"All finished." Medic announced smugly, dropping the last scrap of the telephone into the bowl. "Kopf hoch, Engineer" he soothed with feigned cheer rising from the table. The Texan, eager to be free, scooted his chair back and moved to stand.

"No no, let me heal zat."

Engineer hesitantly stayed in his seat. True he could have wrapped up his hand and go down to his workshop and patch this up himself, but this was easier.

Medic dropped the bloody tweezers in the bowl with the unlikely shrapnel and walked to the corner of the office where the medigun rested on a wheeled stand. "You need to get your mind off of zis. Go out for some drinks." The older man insisted as he wheeled the apparatus closer. "Take Soldier with you," the machine hummed loudly as Medic switched it on. "A man shouldn't go drinking alone."

There was a moment of warmth while the medigun did it's work and the pain was gone. The Texan gave a relieved smile as he flexed his now repaired hand. Murmuring his thanks through grit teeth he stood from his chair to make his exit.

The Medic switched off the machine and, to Engineer's horror, patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. "Maybe if you are still upset afterwards, Sniper can help you with your problem. He is a man good at handling these sort of... problems."

The Texan stiffened "Problem? How could Slim help with…" he glanced at the Medic's face trying to see if he was joking. Was he suggesting… "_Murder?" _ the question ended in a horrified whisper. It was less horror at the German's suggestion and more at the fact that he was almost considering it. Lord knew he had imagined Evie's new beau dropping dead of something unpleasant plenty of times already.

"_Mord? _" Medic froze as if realizing that whatever capacity he was expected to fulfill did not include suggesting homicide to a teammate. He gave the Texan's shoulder a few more unreassuring pats. "Kill someone? Nein! _No_!" he protested loudly and jovially. "Was only joking! _Joking!_" he insisted, his wooden grin spreading from ear to ear but doing nothing to mask the crazy glint in his eye.

"Right... " Engineer said uneasily sidling away from the man and towards the door. To freedom. Safety. "Thanks again for the assist." he said quickly, "I'm gonna try to see what I can do about the phone." Before the Medic could say anything else he slipped out the door and was it everything he could to not bolt down the hall.

The day before Thanksgiving Engineer was hauling his gear back to his workshop, taking the long way around the building to avoid the rest of the team. After the call from Evie's new lover and the following destruction of the phone... The rather furious reactions from the rest of the team just made it worse. He got up and ate his breakfast before everyone else, kept himself out of the way during skirmishes, and remained on the edges of the base. Most of the team had taken one look at the wreckage of what had been the phone with awed trepidation, so he wasn't too concerned about anyone actually throwing a punch at him. He just wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone

Hopefully, everything on base would cool down in a week or so, which was about when RED said they would send the replacement. At rather inflated expense to the Texan's paycheck of course. But after all the trouble it took for him to reach home base and inform them of their communications problem he didn't see a point in arguing. It wasn't like he was sending his money home to Her anymore.

No sense thinking about that, thinking about Her. It was over. Officially. The papers were signed and sent off. It was over and out of his hands.

It just didn't feel over.

The Texan shook his head. He needed a distraction. Thanksgiving couldn't come fast enough.

While not everyone on base was American, there was usually some sort of attempt to celebrate the holiday. Mostly to convince Soldier that everyone on this base _was_ American and not infiltrating Communists. Though the rest of the team didn't need much convincing to celebrate a holiday devoted to stuffing yourself silly. A half day of fighting seemed to be the agreement between the two teams, and then a tactical retreat to nap for the rest of the day. Dinner was usually provided by Scout's mom who somehow managed to send a hot roast turkey and all the trimmings through the United States Postal Service. He had never figured out how she'd accomplished this feat, but her efforts were appreciated by all the team who ate it with good cheer and lots of alcohol.

The sudden sound of an engine starting echoed through the courtyard cutting through the evening silence. The Texan froze at the noise, the hairs on the back of his neck lifting, his eyes narrowing in recognition. If someone, _probably the kid,_ thought they were taking his truck out for a joy ride they had another thing coming. Dropping his gear to the ground, he took off at a sprint across the courtyard. He made his way to the far end of RED grounds, beyond the old shed where all the cars were parked out of the line of likely fire.

"Stop where yah are yah gutless horse thief!" he pulled the pistol from his belt and stalked among the cars. There was Soldier's jeep, Spy's fancy red sports car, and there was his truck. Idling, with no one behind the wheel. Warily, he scanned the area. No sign of anyone; just rocks, vehicles and sand. Cautiously, still holding on to the pistol, he placed his other hand on the door handle and opened it. He definitely remembered locking the truck up last time he'd gone out.

Someone was messing with him, he decided. There was no one in the cab, not a sign of a person or out of place lamps. Warily, he climbed in to undo whatever hot wiring or meddling that had been done to his truck..

"Whoever did this better hope I don't find them out," he muttered to the empty air, settling into the driver's seat of the pickup. And promptly slumped over unconscious.

Once he was sure that the Texan was truly out commission, the BLU Spy uncloaked and climbed out of the back of the truck. He brushed the dust off his suit and strolled to the driver's side of the truck, simultaneously pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. He wiped the knock out drug off the door handle before climbing in; the Engineer roughly shoved out of the way as the Frenchman tried to squeeze behind the wheel.

After much squirming and grumbling the seat was finally adjusted to accommodate Spy's longer legs. He reached up and tilted the rear view mirror to suit him, tsking at the sight of himself. That wouldn't do. Pulling his disguise kit out of his pocket, he soon looked back up in the mirror to see a perfect facsimile of the Engineer's face.

Much better. The Texan in the mirror wore a smirk that was out of character.

The real Engineer was quickly covered using an old blanket that had been left so thoughtfully in the cab.

The truck jerked and squealed as Spy shifted it into gear and started towards the road. This was much easier than the wheelbarrow.


End file.
